Rough Starts
by lionesseyes13
Summary: A series of vignettes beginning after Vader's death on the second Death Star and going back in time to explore how Anakin deals with his dark emotions, how Anakin fell, and how he discovered ultimate redemption.
1. Chapter 1

**Guilt**

_Guilt: A feeling of responsibility or remorse for some offense, crime, violation, or wrong, whether real or imagined._

Force, he had imagined that the agony would abate when he died, but it only continued. Oh, the physical pain was gone, of course, but the emotional pain endured. In fact, it was more powerful now.

Now, he knew for sure that he had selected the easy path when he joined the Dark Side. It was only the good beings who felt guilt. A Sith could choke anyone who displeased him without a qualm, but a Jedi couldn't. A Sith could blow up a peaceful planet without a thought, but a Jedi couldn't. A Sith could blame somebody else for his problems, but a Jedi wasn't allowed such a privilege.

Still, despite how painful guilt was, it was an honor to feel it. Guilt meant that redemption might be possible for him, because while there was guilt there must still be hope. No, he wasn't naïve enough to believe that killing Palpatine alone would be enough to atone for his crimes, but surely it was a step on the right path. After all, he had brought the Force back into balance again with his actions, and he had ended a reign of terror.

Perhaps that was enough to ensure that Obi-Wan would b e willing to talk to him in the afterlife, because it felt like there definitely was one, and maybe the good deeds he had done as Anakin Skywalker would even out the crimes he had committed as Vader and allow him to be close enough to his real Master to send a message of some sort. If not, he could devise a way to communicate with Obi-Wan somehow, since he was an expert mechanic if he was nothing else.

At the moment, nothing seemed more important than speaking with Obi-Wan. He had an overwhelming compulsion to apologize to his true Master for disappointing him, for being an angry, arrogant, defiant, and disrespectful student, and for never considering Obi-Wan's feelings before. Nothing mattered more than explaining that he finally realized how wrong he had been and how cruel he had been to believe that Obi-Wan hadn't possessed emotions as complex as his own just because he had the sense to control himself as Anakin never had the strength to do.

Informing Obi-Wan of his epiphany wouldn't really make up for all the innocent blood he had shed, but nothing could. Maybe the ultimate redemption would lie in him simply comprehending that nothing could compensate for his actions. Who knew? The Force worked in mysterious ways, after all.

All the Chosen One knew as he finally merged with the Force at last and yet somehow seemed to retain an awareness of himself was that if he found redemption, his son would be the first to hear about it, so that he would not be ashamed that he had followed in his father's shoes and became a brilliant pilot and a practitioner of Form V. Truly, he hadn't been lying when he insisted that there was good in Anakin Skywalker even when it was eclipsed by the blackness of Vader, and his son, who had never lost faith in him even when he had lost faith in himself deserved to know that.

Yes, he was finally ready to accept his guilt and his shadowy emotions at long last instead of fighting them or surrendering them, and he only wished that he had listened to Obi-Wan and learned how to do so sooner…


	2. Chapter 2

**Anger**

_Anger: A strong feeling of displeasure and belligerence aroused by a wrong; wrath; ire._

Nine-year-old Anakin Skywalker hated the color puce. No, that wasn't quite accurate, he amended mentally as he stared at the puce pillow beside him on the sofa. He didn't mind the color itself. Actually, he was rather fond of the purplish-brown shade that seemed to live in a constant state of confusion just as he had lived in one ever since he had arrived at the Jedi Temple. What he hated about the color was something it had no control over. What he disliked about it was the fact that beings had to shove such a fancy, pompous name on it. At least the beings who inhabited the upper levels of Coruscant did. On Tatooine, puce would be referred to as the color of eopie droppings. On a whole, he preferred the Tatooine description, since it was the honest one. That was probably why he didn't fit in at the Temple. At the Temple, nobody was ever vulgar, no matter how much they wanted to be, because they had been trained from birth to suppress anything that wasn't completely civilized.

Or that was what the Jedi wanted people to think, at any rate. As far as Anakin could see, there were plenty of Jedi who were as boorish in their own right as Watto. After all, it had been terribly rude and cruel of Rian Dakari to mock his lightsaber technique in fencing class today, especially when Master Cin Draligg had complimented him on his remarkable progress just yesterday. His wrath had only been exacerbated by the fact that he still was grouped with the six-year-olds, and it was perfectly understandable that he had punched Rian Dakari in the mouth as soon as the other boy had taunted him.

Unfortunately, Master Draligg hadn't perceived events from that perspective. Neither, apparently had Obi-Wan. When his Master had heard about the brawl that had erupted, he had instructed Anakin to return to their quarters and wait for his arrival. At the present, Anakin was still debating inwardly whether his Master was attempting to teach him a lesson in patience by forcing him to wait for a lecture or whether Obi-Wan had been so aggravated with him that he had to meditate before he could face his apprentice without blowing a major artery.

On a whole, Anakin was inclined to suspect the former. After all, no sane Master would care if he was angry when he confronted an underling who had displeased him. Besides, it was difficult to envision Obi-Wan truly furious. Nothing seemed to faze him, because the man was the epitome of everything that a Jedi was intended to embody, and he held part of himself aloof, residing in a plane of existence that was above everyone else's.

As such, he did not feel things as Anakin would. Something that would send him into a fit of temper would only garner a sigh or a frown from stoic Obi-Wan, and, even when the man was perturbed, he would just react with a sarcastic comment, a display of irrefutable logic, or an icy silence. Something that would have caused his Padawan to burst into tears only prompted Obi-Wan to shake his head regretfully. It was truly admirable Jedi composure and all that rot, but it was also discomfiting, as it wasn't entirely sentient. After all, there was something unnatural about appearing so removed from typical human emotion. Even at Qui-Gon's funeral, Obi-Wan had barely shed a tear for his beloved mentor.

Indeed, it was still something of a mystery to Anakin why exactly Qui-Gon had selected Obi-Wan as his Padawan. Sure, Obi-Wan was obviously talented, for he was quick-witted and calm in ways Anakin already realized he would never be and he had possessed enough skill with a lightsaber to kill the bestial Sith that had murdered Qui-Gon, but he was also as cold as Hoth. It was hard to imagine someone as compassionate and warm as Qui-Gon wanting an apprentice as frigid and as caustic as Obi-Wan.

Of course, it was probably a violation of an important Jedi rule to think such things about one's Master. Well, Anakin was like Qui-Gon: he didn't play by the rules. He didn't accept restrictions that others would put on him, because he wished to discover his own limits, and there was another difference between him and Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan followed every decree issued by the Council as if it were sacred, since he had apparently failed to learn flexibility and originality from his Master. How Qui-Gon had managed to abide someone who was so rigid and who seemed to travel through life with an attitude of chronic disapproval was anyone's guess.

Reflecting on Qui-Gon at such length had caused a knot to develop in Anakin's throat. Qui-Gon would have understood him better than Obi-Wan. He wouldn't be so lonely here at the Temple if Qui-Gon hadn't died on Naboo, and if Qui-Gon, not Obi-Wan, had been in charge of his training. Sometimes, as much as he was ashamed to admit it even to himself, he hated Obi-Wan. He loathed the man for surviving when Qui-Gon hadn't and for not understanding him.

Then, whenever he acknowledged the dark emotion as his Jedi teachers advised him to do with all of his feelings of rage, he felt guilty. He knew it wasn't Obi-Wan's fault that Qui-Gon was dead, and it had been kind of Obi-Wan to take him on as his apprentice after the mission to Naboo. Still, he wondered, was it too much to ask for a bit of affection from the man?

Yes, obviously, it was, because Obi-Wan was incapable of feeling anything. For that, above all else, Anakin despised him, and, in turn, detested himself for the blackness of his heart. Disgusted with himself and the Jedi, he snatched the puce pillow and threw it across the parlor with all the might he could muster. However, the pillow was soft, and, no matter how much force he put behind the movement, just bounced off the far wall before landing in the thick carpet with an unsatisfactory thump.

The Force obviously wasn't with him today, because his Master, demonstrating his customary knack of showing up exactly when Anakin desired him to least, arrived just as the pillow touched down on the carpet.

Obi-Wan's keen blue eyes lit on the pillow for a second and Anakin expected to be scolded for surrendering to his anger, but the older Jedi did not admonish him. Instead, he just arched an eyebrow at his Padawan. Somehow, his lack of a reaction irked his apprentice all the more, and, before he could try to regulate his tongue, he snapped, "Why don't you stop tormenting me and just beat me already?"

"What?" For the first time since he had taken Anakin as his Padawan, Obi-Wan's face was astonished as he studied the boy, and, suddenly, the former slave recognized just how young his Master was. Of course he was surprised. The Jedi probably had a more refined term for beating that they utilized. "Anakin, I'm not going to hit you. I have no intention of ever hitting you."

"Watto would," Anakin observed. Under other circumstances, he might have felt remorse for comparing Obi-Wan to the greedy, mercurial Toydarian who had owned him for the first nine years of his life, but right now, he wanted to hurt Obi-Wan. For some reason that revolted even him, he longed to make Obi-Wan's heart bleed the way his did. He wanted to shatter the man's serenity, because if Anakin could never have inner peace he didn't wish for Obi-Wan to possess it either.

"I am a Jedi, not a slaveowner," Obi-Wan countered. Outstretching a hand, he rested it on Anakin's shoulder as he seated himself on the sofa next to his Padawan, and Anakin did not pull away. Even if he hated Obi-Wan for his poise, he wanted any comfort his Master could provide. His feelings were a tangled web that even he couldn't unravel, and that wasn't just because he was afraid to do so. "Jedi do not beat their students, Anakin. We rely on rationality, not violence, and I would sound like a foolish hypocrite if I slapped you while yelling at you not to hit anyone."

"How are you going to punish me then, Master?" demanded Anakin, cocking his head dubiously. After all, even he, who was plainly the ignorant child from a backwater world in the Temple, was smart enough to know that he wasn't going to get away with his behavior.

"Jedi do not punish their apprentices—they discipline them," Obi-Wan corrected.

"There's a difference, Master?" Anakin frowned, wishing for the umpteenth time that he had a less intelligent mentor. Then again, there probably wasn't really any distinction between the two words, and the Jedi were most likely just too civilized to use "punish" instead of "discipline."

"Yes, young Padawan," explained Obi-Wan gently. "Punishment is about trying to control someone else and involves fear, whereas discipline focuses on teaching somebody how to govern themselves. Ultimately, punishment cures the symptoms, but not the underlying problem, and discipline aims to treat the actual problem."

"Does that really mean anything, Master?" Personally, Anakin doubted that it did, and that this honestly was yet another bit of theoretical Jedi wordplay that had no discernable practical application.

"I think it does," Obi-Wan informed him. "If I were to punish you, you might never learn what you had done wrong, and you would only learn not to misbehave as long as there is a chance that you might get in trouble with me. On the other hand, if I were to discipline you, you would understand why what you had done was morally wrong, and you would wish to avoid doing so again on principle."

"So, how are you going to discipline me then, Master?" pressed Anakin, who was far more intrigued by specifics rather than generalities.

Yet, Obi-Wan did not respond to his inquiry directly. Instead, he gazed sternly at his apprentice and announced, "Anakin, you can't engage in fistfights like that..."

"Rian shouldn't have made fun of me," interrupted Anakin, his chin setting stubbornly. "He deserved what he got."

"I agree that he shouldn't have made fun of you," Obi-Wan conceded, "but that doesn't necessarily justify your reaction. In life, we can't control anyone's behavior except our own. When someone treats us inappropriately, we don't have to descend to their level, Padawan, nor should we."

"Do you mean I should have just allowed him to tease me without doing anything to defend myself? Why do Jedi even bother carrying lightsabers if they're just going to roll over and pretend to be dead whenever anyone threatens them, Master?" scoffed Anakin.

"Lightsabers are for life-threatening situations, not minor confrontations with bullies." Before Anakin could point out that the confrontation hadn't seemed minor to him, Obi-Wan went on, "Of course you should have defended yourself, Anakin, but there was no need for you to resort to physical violence, which should always be used only when all else fails. You could have spoken to Master Draligg about it, or, in that scenario, you could have ignored Rian, since people like him won't pick on someone who does not react to their taunting. If you remember nothing else from this conversation, bear in mind that your anger is infinitely more dangerous to you than it is to anyone else. At times, it may deceive you by convincing you that it is your most valuable ally when in reality it is your worst foe. Your anger is forever aiming to seduce you to the Dark Side, and you must always be on guard against it, because if you give into its demands once, it is easier to do so a second time and a third time. Permitting your temper to control you is far simpler than mastering it, but true power comes only through self-discipline. That's why you can meditate, exercise, or take deep breaths and count to a hundred whenever you feel rage boiling up inside you."

Anakin barely managed to restrain an eye roll. Seriously, such techniques might be effective with someone as prudent and temperate as Obi-Wan, but they would never work with someone like him, who was both poles with no middle ground in between. Fortunately, his Master did not appear to notice his reaction as he finished, "I suggest that you meditate on the perils of giving into your anger and other methods you could have employed to deal more appropriately with Rian. Before you do so, I ask that you pick up that pillow you threw across the room."

Annoyed at the prospect of meditation, which always tried his patience, Anakin stalked over to the pillow, scooped it up, and lobbed it at the sofa. Then, he stalked into his bedroom before Obi-Wan could say anything else. Anger might have seemed taboo to the Jedi, but his mother had told him that stifling his emotions was unhealthy, and he believed her, since she was so kind and gentle, unlike most Jedi. To deny feelings was to refuse to explore a major aspect of life, which was stupid. Besides, there was nothing wrong with righteous anger, and the moment he failed to harbor it, he would be less than sentient. His anger today had been righteous. He had been right to defend himself, and there was nothing wrong with chucking a pillow, since it wasn't as though a pillow had feelings or anything.


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note: Yes, I wrote two chapters today, because I am ridiculously bored tonight, since it is rainy and depressing, so do not laugh at me. Just enjoy the updates and hope that they last.

Disclaimer: I just realized that I didn't make one of these at the start of the story, so I'll make it now. I don't own Star Wars, and I feel sorry for you if you ever imagined that I did.

**Defiance**

_Defiance: Bold resistance to an opposing force or authority; intentionally contemptuous behavior or attitude; readiness to contend or resist._

Anakin Skywalker loved his thrills. When he was a little boy on Tatooine, he had delighted in Podracing. The feel of adrenaline pounding in his veins as he whipped around a dangerous, twisty course, traveling where no human had gone before and relying upon his rapid instincts had been the closest thing he had come to having fun. Hey, it had even been better than building C-3PO. (If he had known that C-3PO was going to be such a pompous chatterbox, he never would have made the blasted droid, but he supposed that it was just as well that he had built C-3PO, because his mom could really use the company now that her beloved son was gone.)

Now that Anakin was thirteen, his new favorite thrill essentially revolved around trying to anger Obi-Wan. Oh, it wasn't like he normally went out of his way to annoy his Master. No, it just ended up happening anyway, and, despite the fact that the better half of Anakin was well aware that he should feel repentant about this, he never could quite manage it, since a primal, savage part of him enjoyed aggravating Obi-Wan. It was only when Obi-Wan was vexed that he showed any powerful emotion at all, and Anakin enjoyed provoking him.

Angering Obi-Wan as much as the composed Jedi Knight could be was just another one of Anakin's numerous talents. Today was just another round in his endless adolescent campaign of annoying his Master. Sure, Obi-Wan might have explicitly instructed him to protect Prince Jamil and not race after the bounty hunter with his Master, but Anakin had wanted to be in on the action, and it hadn't really been a crime to sneak off after Obi-Wan had left and hunt down the bounty hunter as well. After all, he and Obi-Wan had managed to kill the bounty hunter, and Prince Jamil had survived, so everything had turned out fine. The mission had been a success. Nothing else mattered.

Honestly, Obi-Wan, who was so possessed with taking the long view on everything, should have understood that. Unfortunately, he hadn't, which was why Anakin was sitting cross-legged on his bed, pretending to meditate. His Master had told him to meditate on his actions and the severe consequences there could have been for his behavior. No doubt when Obi-Wan arrived, he would feel the need to examine every one of those consequences in excruciating detail. Force, it could be a real disadvantage having a clever Master.

As this idea occurred to Anakin, the door swung open. The instant Obi-Wan entered, he knew that Anakin was only pretending to meditate, it seemed, for he sighed, "Meditation you no good if you refuse to really perform it, Padawan."

"I hate meditation, Master." Anakin adopted a pout that was sometimes effective with Obi-Wan.

"I hate flying, but I can still turn on a ship," Obi-Wan pointed out. His tone alerted Anakin to the fact that sulking wasn't going to save him from a lecture this time.

"You don't hate flying the way I hate meditation, Master," he protested automatically, expressing his first thought aloud. It was true. Obi-Wan disliked things; he didn't hate them. He was too rational to feel as his Padawan felt.

"You don't actually hate meditation, Anakin," Obi-Wan stated levelly. "You don't really loathe an activity or something that can do you no real harm or bear you any true malice."

What did he know? Anakin snorted inwardly. Obviously, he hadn't been raised on Tatooine. Just as plainly, he had never realized that hatred was an emotion that wasn't regulated by the mind, but rather by the heart. Sometimes Obi-Wan's wisdom made him sound like a fool who could only recite Jedi platitudes all day long.

He wouldn't share this idea, though. After all, he wasn't completely stupid, and he was in enough poodoo for defiance without adding another transgression to his list.

"Anakin, before I left Prince Jamil to track down the bounty hunter, what were my instructions to you?" Obi-Wan asked, getting down to business.

"Why do you ask questions you already know the answer to, Master?" demanded Anakin, scowling.

"Just answer the question." Obi-Wan's voice was clipped, and, for a moment, Anakin was tempted to respond "no."

However, in the end, he decided that he did not really want to figure out what would happen to him if he did, and so he answered grudgingly, "You told me to stay with Prince Jamil and protect him."

"Exactly." Obi-Wan nodded. "So, why didn't you obey me?"

"I wanted to be in on the action and the fight, Master," admitted Anakin, knowing this wasn't a Jedi response, but it was the truth.

"A Jedi doesn't crave adventure, Anakin." Obi-Wan's tone was coated with disapproval. For a moment, his Padawan almost felt guilty, especially as the scolding carried on. "A Padawan has many important duties, but perhaps the most crucial is obedience. Jedi go on perilous missions all the time, and Masters need to know that their apprentices will instantly comply with their commands. In the situations in which Jedi typically find themselves, a Master, a Padawan, or a third party could be wounded or killed by an apprentice's refusal to obey orders."

"What if your orders are wrong, Master?" Anakin argued. "Then my obedience would be worse than my defiance."

"In dangerous situations when the circumstances change, apprentices may disobey their Masters," Obi-Wan allowed. "They are not, however, permitted to do so just because they want to be included in a chase. Most of the time, Padawans must obey their Masters even if they disagree with the orders they receive. To be safe and effective on missions, they must trust that their Masters know best, just as their Masters must be able to trust in them to obey. You were lucky that neither you nor Prince Jamil were injured today, but you won't always be so fortunate. Take this opportunity to learn the value of obedience before you have to discover its importance in a more painful fashion."

"Yes, Master," Anakin agreed, putting on his perfect Padawan voice, even though he still thought that nobody had been hurt by his actions and he had gotten a thrill. Why couldn't he continue to do so in the future? If something did go wrong one day, what made Obi-Wan so confident that he couldn't think on his toes and resolve the problem? Really, just because Obi-Wan was unquestioningly obedient to authority figures, that was no reason to force compliance on his apprentice.


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note: I'm not really a major fan of this one, but hopefully you guys will find it enjoyable. (If you do, please feel free to give me some of whatever you are smoking.) The details of the Anison mission belong to Alan Dean Foster, who wrote about that in his _The Approaching Storm_.

Insolence

**Insolence: Contemptuously rude or impertinent behavior or speech.**

Nineteen-year-old Anakin Skywalker scowled around at the sleeping quarters of the two-roomed ship that was transporting him, his Master, and another Jedi pair to Anison. As a connoisseur of spacecraft, he was a firm believer in style, comfort, and speed, none of which this particular vessel possessed. The best thing that could be said about it was that it was utilitarian, for it was remarkable how many consoles had been jammed on top of each other in the cockpit, and it did look substantial enough not to break down on them in hyperspace. Still, any pilot worth his paycheck would have been embarrassed to call it his own.

"Good thing more people don't have to be crammed onto this ship, or else we'd be drawing lots for bunks," he grumbled, as he stretched out on his bunk and flipped through a copy of the information Jocasta Nu had provided on Anison. When he rippled through the pages, he determined that there were too many to read through, so he decided to skim through them, instead.

"The Council would have assigned us a larger ship if we had more people," Obi-Wan replied absently, his mind obviously on the history of Anisonian politics that he was reading, reflecting a faith in the wisdom and the goodwill of the Jedi's governing body that his apprentice did not share.

"I doubt it, Master," argued Anakin, absorbing what seemed to be the important points about the Balawari natives from the opening paragraph of a page and then flipping onto the next sheet before he was drowned in a sea of irrelevant details. "The Council clearly hates me, as seen in the fact that they assign me to travel in the worst ship they own."

"Maybe they hope that you'll make some improvements on it," Obi-Wan suggested, his forehead furrowing in concentration. He was focusing on his reading and treating Anakin like a youngling who wouldn't stop asking "Are we there yet?"

"Nobody could improve this bucket of bolts. I saw more attractive looking ships come through Watto's shop," insisted Anakin, annoyed at being treated like a five-year-old and wanting his Master's full attention. "I'm telling you that the Council hates me."

"The Council doesn't have a vendetta against you." Obi-Wan still refused to put down the information he was studying. "If what you're saying is true, then the Council would also have a vendetta against Master Luminara, Barriss, and I, because we are also onboard this ship."

"No, Master, you'd just be unfortunate casualties of their vendetta against me," Anakin protested. "The only reason they'd put me on such a small ship is because of their dislike of me,"

"This ship isn't small; it's fun size," Obi-Wan observed lightly, obviously trying to placate Anakin, so he could return to his reading in peace.

"As far as I can see, there isn't anything fun about it, Master," he mumbled, wondering why he was so irritable. For the past three days, he had been trapped at the Temple, awaiting another mission, and he was already sick of practicing with his lightsaber, fiddling around with any machines he could find, swimming in the lake, and running on the treadmill in the exercise rooms. Out of everything, he was most tired of the treadmill, since it reminded him too much of his life. Sometimes, it seemed to him that his whole life was spent on a gigantic treadmill, because no matter how hard he worked, he never got anywhere. Whenever that depressing comparison came to mind, he would always shove it out by pushing himself to run another kilometer even faster. Exercise was good at allowing him to block out things like the increasing turbulence in his relationship with Obi-Wan. In the past, while they had certainly had their disagreements, there had never been an underlying tension that permeated every conversation they had, as there was now. Exercise was also wonderful at getting him to briefly forget his aggravation at the fact that while he was the most powerful Padawan, he was always passed over for Knighthood. Exercise cooled his suspicion that the entire Jedi Order had a vendetta against him. Still, exercise only worked only for a little while. Then, he needed the distraction of a mission—a real mission, though, not another silly political dispute like the one on Anison. No, he required a mission that was dangerous and packed with the type of adrenaline rushes that only came from living on the edge of death. "It's just small in a bad way."

"As Master Yoda says, size matters not as long as function well enough something does," Obi-Wan paraphrased, and Anakin rolled his eyes.

Sometimes, it seemed like all Obi-Wan could do was recite maxims that had been hammered into his head since he was a crecheling. It was astonishing recall and all that, but it got a bit dull after awhile. At times like this, Anakin was intensely grateful that he had not been raised in the Temple. Growing up as a slave on Tatooine certainly had its pitfalls, but in many ways Anakin thought he was freer than the other Jedi. Indeed, he nursed the strong suspicion that only those who had been born slaves could truly comprehend liberty. Only they could think for themselves, instead of being controlled by their training. Unlike everybody else, they weren't a slave to any authority figures.

"Yoda only says that because he's shorter than most younglings," Anakin scoffed.

"Padawan!" Obi-Wan exclaimed, throwing down the packet he was reading in shock. "_Master_ Yoda is one of the most respected members of our Order."

"He still isn't even a meter tall, Master." Anakin dismissed the previous comment as though it were of minimal significance.

"He is a perfectly ordinary height for a member of his species," Obi-Wan informed him sharply. "I hope that you will display more sensitivity to species diversity while we are on Anison, or we will be lucky if we aren't thrown into a prison or expelled from the planet within a day."

"Don't worry," Anakin reassured him, rolling his eyes again. "Just like I would never tell a Hutt he needed to go on a diet as every time he moved he caused tectonic plates to shift, I know that you don't tell an Anisonian that he would look a lot better if he shaved off his fur."

"So you do know something about politics, after all," remarked Obi-Wan, sounding slightly relieved.

"I'm not stupid, Master," snorted Anakin. "I just don't understand why four Jedi are needed to handle a minor interplanetary dispute on a remote world that nobody cares about."

"That's just it, Padawan. People do care about Anison," Obi-Wan explained patiently. "If the local problems are not resolved swiftly on Anison, then Anison will secede from the Republic."

"And we have one less Senator to slow things down and make the tax code even more confusing, how is that a disaster?" Anakin pressed.

"No, we have a lot less planets in the Republic, because by a number of treaties Anison is linked to dozens of worlds that would be bound to join the Separatists if it did. By various other treaties, dozens more planets would be forced to secede, and those dozens of worlds are in turn connected to dozens more. In short, if Anison breaks away from the Republic, hundreds of planets will follow, just as a holochip at the top of a line will eventually knock over all the others if it topples," corrected Obi-Wan, his expression grim. "Thus, the Council feels that the situation is grave enough to warrant two pairs of Jedi, and I must say I agree."

"That's not a surprise, since you always agree with the Council." Anakin decided that it was definitely worth being rude to steer the topic away from politics, which bored him, because he, like most of the Republic inhabitants, instinctively recognized most state matters as irrelevant to his life. After all, he was too busy with a real job to care about misleadingly labeled dry fruit and that sort of rubbish like Senators did.

"I disagreed with them when I took you as my apprentice." As he established as much, Obi-Wan's tone was soft, and his eyes adopted the vulnerable, distant cast they always did when he was thinking of Qui-Gon.

That look always made Obi-Wan seem young, and guilt rose in Anakin, who found himself asking before he was aware of what his tongue was doing, "I bet you regret that now, don't you, Master?"

As soon as the words came out of his mouth, he wanted to kick himself five times in a row. Force, he was an idiot, after all. There was a question he definitely did not want an honest answer to…

"No, and I never have, Anakin." If anything, Obi-Wan's voice was more hushed now. "You may be insolent, obstinate, and hard-headed, but you have your redeeming attributes, and I don't regret training you at all."

"Oh." That was the only response Anakin could devise. He hadn't been expecting that reply, which was in some ways worse than if Obi-Wan had admitted that he regretted taking Anakin on as his apprentice. Somehow, it made Anakin wish to be a polite and obedient Padawan, something that he would never be able to pull off any time in the next million years, and that made him feel like more of a failure than if Obi-Wan had announced that he did indeed regret training him.


	5. Chapter 5

Author's Note: This is a moment in time, basically, that is borrowed from the _Labyrinth of Evil _by James Luceno taken from his description of the Battle of Belderone. It is shorter than some of my other vignettes, but I think its brevity captures some of the glamour and tragically abbreviated nature of the heights that Anakin and Obi-Wan attained during the pinnacle of their friendship and power during the Clone Wars.

**Arrogance**

_Arrogance: The taking of too much upon oneself as one's right; the assertion of unwarrantable claims in respect to one's own in respect to one's importance; undue assumption of dignity, authority or knowledge; excessive conceit, presumption or haughtiness. _

It felt good to be in a cockpit again. Other beings might have regarded the flashing proton torpedoes as terrifying, but Anakin Skywalker didn't. He saw them as exciting challenges: potentially lethal beams to dodge as he fired at the enemy. Air was his element, and he hadn't been in a fight like this for months—not since Praesitlyn—so he was relishing this opportunity to relax as only he could in the middle of a massive space battle. It wasn't that he didn't take his duty seriously; it was just that he functioned best under pressure. As bizarre as it sounded, he could think best when adrenaline was spiking his veins, and he was most comfortable on the precipice of death.

The craft he had been issued for the battle was doing its part to make this fight even more exciting. While it was no prize in the looks kingdom given that it appeared as though it had seen many better years, it handled well enough, although its ion drive had not been functioning at optimal when he had taken off from the battleship the _Integrity_. He had gotten R2 to mend that, though, and he was ready for action.

"I say we leave the small stuff to Odd Ball and the other pilots, and go straight for the ones that matter," he said to his wingmate, Obi-Wan. Technically, there was a protocol pertaining to call signs that was supposed to be adhered to in this circumstance. However, in his opinion, call signals just wasted time in battle and probably had been invented by some stupid politician who had never been in war, and, therefore, didn't understand the need for instantaneous action. In war, there wasn't time for pleasantries. Even if there was, Anakin had never been a fan of them, and he had never been one to follow the rules, especially the pointless ones. In this case, he saw no need for a call signal, since the one he was addressing knew who he was talking to and who he was.

"Anakin, there are approximately five hundred droids positioned between Grevious and us," Obi-Wan reminded him, knowing exactly what Anakin meant when he referred to the "ones that mater." The ones that were a real challenge. The ones that might actually do something to end this war if they were destroyed. "What's more, the capital ships are too heavily shielded."

That didn't signify. Anakin already had a plan to deal with those obstacles, or he did as much as he ever had an overall strategy to deal with anything. In his plans, there was always room for a sudden change brought about by a flash of inspiration. That was what made him the best starfighter pilot in the galaxy, and it was this free spirit that Anakin always wanted to give a piece of to his friend.

Sometimes, Anakin suspected that Obi-Wan had possessed a wild spirit of his own in his youth, for Garen had hinted that Obi-Wan was almost as good a pilot as he was as an initiate, and the stereotypes about the best pilots being cocky were all true because great pilots had cause to be arrogant. Sometimes, Anakin wondered if he was the reason Obi-Wan had lost touch with his wilder side. Maybe the pressure of needing to be mature and responsible for a Padawan so soon after becoming a Knight had made him grow up too fast. Perhaps Qui-Gon's death had killed the child in Obi-Wan.

If so, it was Anakin's job to resurrect it—and his pleasure. After all, the whole point of being someone's best friend was to highlight the best elements in the other person even if that individual wasn't aware that some of those attributes existed. Apart from that, in a friendship, you were supposed to share any gifts you had, and Anakin intended to do that.

If the Force had been playing an elaborate practical joke on him and Obi-Wan when it had shoved them together as Master and apprentice, it didn't mean anything anymore. The two of them had finally been forged into a perfect team in the fire of the Clone Wars. That was why even though he was a Knight now, Anakin stayed by Obi-Wan's side. So much of the time, it felt like he and Obi-Wan were one person, and you didn't separate yourself if you could help it. They were the best team that the galaxy had ever seen, and they were getting better all the time. Anyone intelligent enough to access the Holonet knew of their legendary exploits, and the Holonet didn't do their adventures justice. In real life, there was a lot more sweat and blood, but a whole lot more miracles.

Anakin Skywalker was the Hero with No Fear and the Warrior of the Infinite, and he could achieve what most sentients would regard as impossible, and, with Obi-Wan by his side, nothing was impossible. With Obi-Wan flying as his wingmate, he would be able to attack Grievous' battleship right away, and, with Obi-Wan at his back, he could be certain that any dangers he failed to spot would be destroyed. It was the knowledge of this beauty of their partnership that allowed him to declare confidently, "Just follow my lead, Master."

It was time for Kenobi and Skywalker to come dashing into the fray again and save the Republic, because if they didn't, nobody else would. Saving the galaxy was their reason to be, after all, whether they liked it or not. It was their duty now and forever, and they would always do it together. Nothing could break the ultimate team, and nothing could defeat Anakin and Obi-Wan. Oddly enough, it did not occur to Anakin until years later once he had changed his name and fashioned himself a new identity that if nothing could vanquish them as a team, they would have to destroy each other.


	6. Chapter 6

Author's Note: Yes, in case anyone is interested, I am hopefully going to be updating "Descending Darkness" sometime soon, but that is largely a weekend project, since it requires more time than I have at the moment. Writing short chapters like this is just much easier after a busy day, so don't blame me, and just appreciate the fact that I'm writing anything all…Oh, and, yes, this scene is obviously from Episode III. (You'd fail at Star Wars trivia if you didn't pick up on that in about a second, but I just thought I'd warn you that we are now moving into Episode III territory and we'll be staying there for one more chapter I think unless my muses cause me to change my mind on this.)

Reviews: Reviewers get seats on the Council, but this isn't bribery or anything…

**Distrust**

_Distrust: Absence or want of confidence, faith, or reliance; doubt; suspicion; breach of trust; the proving false to trust. _

Anakin Skywalker was seeing red, and not in the figurative sense. No, everything he looked at was tinged with that color, so that the galaxy as he knew it was comprised of shades ranging from a light pink to a screaming crimson with the glaring scarlet predominating to match his foul mood. His anger had simmered when he had been forced to wait outside the Council chamber while its members debated over whether or not to grant Chancellor Palpatine's request for him to serve as the Chancellor's personal representative on the Council. Waiting required patience, a virtue he had never had the desire or the patience to cultivate, and it was also an insult to make him wait as long as they had. Of course, the Council generally went out of its way to snub him whenever they could, although they had no qualms about sending him out to win the Clone Wars for them.

Then, when they had finally let him in, they had fueled his temper with a further taunt when they allowed him a seat on the Council but deliberately denied him the right to serve as Master. Never mind that he had earned the title at least five times over during the course of the war. Never mind that he had been at least as heroic as Obi-Wan. Never mind that he was the most powerful Jedi and the strongest in the Force. The Council was always ready to dismiss his achievements. After all, it had taken them forever to promote him to the rank of Knight even, despite the fact that he had been more powerful than most Knights and had already been made famous by the Holonet.

The Council wasn't blind to his accomplishments. They just preferred to ignore them. Still, this refusing him the title of Master was sinking to new depths of low even for them.

"What kind of nonsense is this—putting me on the Council and not making me a Master?" he seethed to Obi-Wan as soon as they had left the Council chamber. He had stopped shouting in the meeting earlier mainly because Obi-Wan had clearly been embarrassed by his behavior, and, as much as he enjoyed tormenting the man, he didn't really want to distress him too much. Now that they were in the relative privacy of the corridor, he considered it perfectly acceptable to explode. "That's never been done in the history of the Jedi! It's insulting."

Actually, insulting didn't even begin to cover. It was also humiliating, outrageous, aggravating, and infuriating. Even all that might have been an understatement.

"Calm down." Obi-Wan's tone was the composed, rational one he used whenever was falling into his role as the Negotiator. Well, perhaps that voice worked at convincing members of the same planet not to slaughter each other in a civil war and it even worked on Anakin sometimes, but it wasn't going to be effective now. Now, no matter what Obi-Wan said, Anakin wasn't going to calm down until he had shouted all of his fury out. He wasn't just going to roll over and play dead like the Council wanted. He was the Hero with No Fear, so they certainly didn't intimidate him. "You've been given a great honor. To be on the Council at your age has never happened before."

In response, Anakin snorted derisively, thinking dismissively that there had never been a Jedi as mighty as he was so the honor was cancelled out by the insult to his obvious abilities. He was about to elaborate on this point when Obi-Wan continued, showing that he didn't need a translation of the snort, after all, "Listen to me, Anakin."

The seriousness in his voice caught Anakin's attention and pulled him away from his anger enough to actually focus on the words coming out of Obi-Wan's mouth. When Obi-Wan talked like that, what he was going to establish was usually important, and, when it came down to it, Anakin did value Obi-Wan's opinion. Certainly, he respected his former Master more than he did the whole rest of the Council combined. At any rate, Obi-Wan deserved to be heard, especially if his words could alleviate some of Anakin's anger, so that he could go back to worrying about Padme, who was far more important that all this political mumbo jumbo everyone seemed determined to engulf him in.

"The fact is that you're too close to the Chancellor, and the Council doesn't like him interfering in Jedi affairs," Obi-Wan explained.

For a second, it was on the tip of Anakin's tongue to ask what that meant in Basic. Then, he understood the implication behind the typical Obi-Wan hint. The Council thought that he had used his friendship with the Chancellor to get himself appointed to the Council, which proved that the Council trusted him about as much as they trusted Grevious. He was nowhere near devious enough to come up with a strategy like that—Obi-Wan was the clever one, after all. In fact, the idea of using his friendship with Palpatine had never even occurred to him until Obi-Wan had hinted at it a second ago. Even if it had, he wasn't a politician, and he didn't manipulate people for his own ends. He was the hero, not the monster, and the good guy, not the bad guy.

"I swear to you, I didn't ask to be put on the Council," he stated vehemently. There, the Council would have to believe him now, because even they knew that he wouldn't lie to Obi-Wan. Well, he would never lie to Obi-Wan about anything other than Padme, and not telling the truth about his relationship with Padme was only a half lie, since Obi-Wan had never asked about it.

"But it's what you wanted," pointed out Obi-Wan, and Anakin wondered if his friend believed him and then if he was being paranoid as a result of the Council's insults, as Obi-Wan went on, "and, regardless of how it happened , you find yourself in a delicate situation."

Delicate situation. That didn't even begin to cover where he was. He was in a nexu's den. He wasn't supposed to be married, and he was. His wife was pregnant, and soon the whole galaxy would know. Once the Jedi found out, he would be kicked out of the Order, and, even though he complained about the Council, he couldn't bear the thought of that occurring, yet he couldn't abandon Padme either. And Padme was going to die if he didn't save her, but he couldn't devote the time necessary to figuring out how to do so, because he was caught in a battle between the Council and the Chancellor, even though he didn't want to be.

Of course, Obi-Wan didn't know all this, and Anakin would never be able to tell him. If he did, Obi-Wan would go to the Council, and the Council was the last group after the Separatists that Anakin wanted meddling in his affairs at the moment. All Obi-Wan knew about was the conflict between the Chancellor and the Jedi, and it would have to stay that way. Anakin trusted his best friend with his life, but not with his most dangerous secret.

"You mean divided loyalties," Anakin supplied dully, wishing that was all that was weighing on his heart and wishing that he had never returned to Coruscant. Life was much better on the battlefield where it was obvious who you could trust and who you couldn't.

Obi-Wan nodded at his assessment, and then burst out, "I warned you that there was tension between the Council and the Chancellor. I was very clear. Why didn't you listen? You walked right into it."

No, he hadn't been clear. He had been oblique, and it wasn't Anakin's fault that the Chancellor and the Council were devoted to stepping on each other's toes as much as possible. He hadn't asked to be the latest casualty in the stupid political battle they were waging when they should have been focused on winning the Clone Wars, instead. Force, he had thought that Obi-Wan of all people would understand—

"The Council is upset because I'm the youngest ever to serve," he retorted, stung. He was speaking the truth. The Council didn't like him because he was more powerful than any of them, he was young, and he was unpredictable. That had as much to do with their refusal to grant him Mastership as anything else.

"No, it is not," Obi-Wan snapped, and Anakin started, since he hadn't heard Obi-Wan address him that sharply in years—not since Geonosis. Maybe it was a guilty response. Perhaps Obi-Wan, too, was jealous of his abilities. After all, Obi-Wan hadn't been thrilled when Qui-Gon shunted him aside in favor of Anakin…No, that was crazy. Obi-Wan was his best friend, and he had spent the last thirteen years of his life training Anakin. There was no way he could have been envious of his own former Padawan, and maybe Anakin really did need to calm down if his mind was spacing down that lane.

The sounds of their boots slapping against the floor filled the corridor for a long, tense moment, before Obi-Wan took a deep breath and amended in a milder voice, "Anakin, I worry when you speak of jealousy and pride. Those are not Jedi thoughts. They're dangerous, dark thoughts."

That was like Obi-Wan, fretting about nothing. Anakin was fine. He could defend himself, and he would find a way to protect Padme, too.

"Master, you of all people should have faith in my abilities," he pointed out. When Obi-Wan gave a slight nod of confirmation, he was encouraged enough to add, "I know where my loyalties lie."

Or did he? Did they lie with the Jedi or the Chancellor? Did they lie with Obi-Wan, Palpatine, or Padme? He didn't know any more. On Coruscant, nothing was obvious, and his allegiance, like his heart, was scattered to all the ends of the universe. All he knew was that he didn't want to hurt any of the beings that he loved, but when their interests were at odds, it was inevitable that someone he cared about would be wounded by his behavior and that someone's trust in him would be irreparably shattered.

"I hope so." Perhaps Obi-Wan read some of his inner turmoil in his expression, because he eyed Anakin significantly before averting his gaze.

Disturbed by Obi-Wan's looking away, Anakin pressed when Obi-Wan didn't carry on, "I sense there's more to this talk than you're saying." As there typically was with Obi-Wan.

"Anakin, the only reason the Council has approved your appointment is because the Chancellor trusts you," sighed Obi-Wan.

"And?" Anakin prompted when the other man paused. His stomach was ice, and he wished that for once his best friend would just come right out and say what it was instead of beating around the prickle-bush.

"Anakin, look, I'm on your side. I didn't want to see you put in this position." Obi-Wan shot Anakin a pleading glance, and, if anything, Anakin's anxiety increased. If Obi-Wan was prefacing it like this, it must be heart-stoppingly horrible, and he wasn't in the mood for any more bad news right now.

"What situation?" he pressed, just wanting to get this miserable conversation over with.

At this point, Obi-Wan actually stopped walking and spun around to face his companion. He hesitated, as though searching for the right words, and then explained tightly, "The Council wants you to report on all of the Chancellor's dealings. They want to know what he is up to."

"They want me to spy on the Chancellor?" Anakin demanded, going numb from head to toe. That was wrong, and what was even worse was the fact that Obi-Wan was asking it of him. Obi-Wan was someone he admired, yet Obi-Wan was going to ask him to break the trust of someone he cared about and do something that violated his conscience. Obi-Wan had honor and yet he was abandoning it. Obi-Wan was a perfect Jedi, and yet here he was asking Anakin to violate the Code. No wonder nothing made sense any more, since everything was wrong, and he couldn't even trust his best friend any more, because even Obi-Wan wanted to use him.

At Obi-Wan's nod, he exclaimed, "That's treason!"

Obi-Wan with all of his loyalty to the Republic was asking Anakin to commit treason. This was crazier than anything his brain had invented in his wildest dreams. Of course, Obi-Wan had said that he didn't agree with the Council. Yet, somehow, that made it worse. That meant that Obi-Wan had surrendered to the will of the Council by requesting that Anakin spy on the Chancellor. He had violated his own conscience and now he wanted Anakin to break his principles as well. This was all so wrong. Obi-Wan wasn't weak; he was made of durasteel like Qui-Gon had been and like Anakin himself was. He wasn't supposed to give up, and that was one of the reasons why Anakin respected him. As such, Obi-Wan had let him down by surrendering to the Council like this and then expecting Anakin to do the same. Now, nothing could ever be the same between them, since Anakin couldn't be confident that Obi-Wan really was as moral as he appeared to be.

"We are at war, Anakin, and the Jedi Council is sworn to uphold the principles of the Republic, even if the Chancellor is not," Obi-Wan rationalized, somehow managing to slip in a jab at Palpatine, whom Anakin was sympathizing greatly with at the moment. The Council was indeed corrupt if they were asking this of Anakin, after all.

"Why didn't the Council give me this assignment when we were in session?" Anakin demanded, sick of justifications and wanting to expose the immorality of what was happening here.

"This assignment isn't for the record," confessed Obi-Wan heavily. "The Council asked me to approach you on this personally."

Of course, Anakin thought hysterically. They knew that Obi-Wan would obey them out of duty, and that the ties of friendship would prohibit Anakin from refusing Obi-Wan. What a careful web they had woven to ensnare him, and he hated them for it, just as he hated Obi-Wan for playing his part and himself because he already knew that he would back down in the end. In his gut, he knew that he would be persuaded to betray a friend, and that nauseated him. Now, he couldn't even trust himself, and he was truly all alone in a galaxy packed with sentients, which was the worst feeling in the universe, especially since his greatest fear had always been being isolated in the darkness.


	7. Chapter 7

Author's Note: Okay, people, I am guilty of a major/minor/nonexistent miscalculation. There will actually be three scenes from Episode III here, because I decided that I wasn't in the mood to rewrite the whole duel between Anakin and Obi-Wan on Mustafar again because it was hard enough doing it from Obi-Wan's perspective, so I would just write one vignette about the beginning of the confrontation and one about the end. The more astute Star Wars fans among you (also known as those of you who have watched Episode III more than once) might recognize this scene from Episode III, which I am mercilessly dragging up for another flogging. I'd just thought I'd throw that out there so nobody thinks this chapter will be in any way original. Now that is out in the open, we can progress onto the actual story, which, I presume, is the real reason you are reading this chapter:

**Misguided**

_Misguided: _ _Guided in a wrong direction; misdirected or mistaken in action or thought; foolish, ill-judged; having a wrong purpose or intention._

In Anakin's opinion, Mustafar was the perfect planet. Its erupting volcanoes reflected his bursts of anger, which had been so deadly to the craven Separatist leaders cowering here and the Jedi at the Temple. The seething lava mirrored the hatred that boiled inside him—hatred for the Separatists who had made his life like the Corellian hells for the past few years, hatred for the Senate for being corrupt, hatred for the Republic for failing to live up to its ideals, and hatred for the Jedi for using him and denying him his one pleasure. Yes, if it had been up to the Jedi, he wouldn't have married Padme at all, and if she died in childbirth, all they would have told him would have been to release his grief into the Force, as if grief was something that could be let go of just because you wanted to lose it, as if her death, like his mother's, wouldn't haunt him forever.

He had only done what he had to do to keep her alive when he disposed of the Jedi at the Temple, and all those self-righteous sentients should be thanking him because now they were finally one with the Force, as they had always wanted to be. Unless, of course, they weren't, and they could finally comprehend what was so horrible about death now that they were dead. Maybe they would understand now why they had to die so that Padme could live.

Then again, perhaps they wouldn't. Padme hadn't. She had absorbed all the lies that Obi-Wan had told her about what he had done. She refused to see his actions as a testament of his love for her. Instead, she gazed at him as though he was a monster even worse than Grievous when, for fierfek's sake, all he had done was protect someone he loved from death and given everything he could to save his wife. If that was a crime, millions of sentients from the dawn of time were guilty. It was natural to look after those you loved the most at the expense of everyone else. Nobody could save everybody, not even a hero, and Anakin hadn't ever claimed to be a hero, anyway. That was all the Holonet, spewing its usual propaganda to manipulate the weak-minded masses into behaving as those in power wanted them to.

For being blind, he hated her, and he hated Obi-Wan for being the one who poked out her eyes. Thanks to the two beings he loved the most, he was going to be denied the future he had sacrificed everything for.

No, he would make them see reason. He would make them cooperate. He was powerful enough to ensure that this time everything wouldn't be ruined, even if they wanted to destroy things for him, because they obviously didn't care about him as much as he cared about them.

He hated himself, too, for being weak, because when she pleaded with him to run away with her and raise their child alone, he had almost agreed. He had almost agreed that he shouldn't overthrow Sidious and take over the galaxy, so that it could finally be in good, competent hands again. She had almost manipulated him, and he hated himself for being so susceptible to her temptations. Luckily, reason returned to him when he saw Obi-Wan's outline standing on the exit ramp of her starship and realized that she was an even worse traitor than he thought.

"Liar!" he howled, furious at her for bringing Obi-Wan here to kill him and infuriated at Obi-Wan for interfering with his life as usual.

"No," she protested frantically, glancing over her shoulder at Obi-Wan. Her eyes widened innocently, but that didn't fool him. He wasn't going to listen to any more of her lies, because he couldn't bear to hear them.

"You've betrayed me," he shouted, his brain a throbbing blot of crimson. Blast it, he was all alone in the galaxy now.

Palpatine had proven to be a liar and he would be overthrown as soon as possible. The Jedi had always been against him and the universe was a better place without their sanctimonious platitudes, as far as he was concerned. His best friend wanted him in a body bag. Worst of all, his wife wanted to be an accomplice in his murder.

Everyone he cared about betrayed him, and it wasn't fair after all he did for those who turned their backs on him. He had fought in the Clone Wars for years in service to the Republic, which had then shown itself to be unworthy of saving. He had served the Jedi Order ever since he was nine, and they had never even said "thanks." He had saved Obi-Wan's life more times than either of them could count, and Obi-Wan wanted to wreck his. He had sacrificed everything for Padme, and she just spat on his offerings. He deserved better than this, he thought bitterly, clenching his hand into a fist.

Invisible fingers closed around her throat, and she clawed at her neck, struggling desperately to dislodge them. Yet, she wouldn't be able to. Only he could do that. When he did, she would have to see that he wasn't so awful and that he was the only one who could save her, after all.

The only problem was that he wasn't stopping. Somehow, he couldn't bring himself to unfurl his fingers. The universe slid off into another plane of reality for a moment as he watched, as if from a parsec off, Padme fall to the ground as Obi-Wan ran down the ramp and bent to check her vital signals.

"You turned her against me," he cried, hurling the blame for this whole mess on Obi-Wan. After all, if Obi-Wan hadn't twisted Padme's brain and hadn't shown up here, Anakin would never have lost control and Padme wouldn't be lying on the ground.

"You have done that yourself," snapped Obi-Wan, suggesting that the chase for Grievous had made him madder than the average dingbat. Did he seriously think that Anakin had chosen to fall in love with Padme or to have her betray him? Did he think that Anakin had volunteered to be the Chosen One, the Hero with No Fear, the Warrior of the Infinite or any of the stupid names they had piled on him to stroke his ego so he would continue to serve them without receiving anything in return? Did he imagine for even a second that Anakin had chosen any of this, instead of having it all forced upon him? "You've let the Dark Side twist your point of view until now—now you are the very thing you swore to destroy."

Somehow, the final words penetrated the scarlet fog that had engulfed his mind. He had sworn to destroy the Sith and now he was a Sith. He had taken an oath of allegiance to Sidious, one that, in typical Sith fashion, he was planning on voiding as soon as possible when he killed Sidious and took over the galaxy. He wanted to kill Sidious, but he didn't want to kill Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan had always been his friend in a way Palpatine never had been, so it seemed cruel to kill him. Besides, Obi-Wan had been the one to teach him how to use a lightsaber, and, as such, it felt wrong to strike him down with one. Anyway, it seemed counterproductive to slay someone he had risked his life to save so often.

Of course, he would kill Obi-Wan if he had to. He could do anything if he had, so he just hoped that Obi-Wan would be smart enough not to force him to do it.

"Don't make me kill you," he warned, turning his back on Obi-Wan. Somehow, this whole scene would be less awful if they weren't looking at each other, he thought.

There was moment's pause, and Anakin entertained the hope that Obi-Wan would just walk away, resigning himself to a life of meditation and holobook reading, which had been all he had ever wanted anyway, even if he had gotten swept up in wars and political battles. Reality returned with a bump when Obi-Wan announced softly, "My allegiance is to the Republic, Anakin. To democracy."

Of course it was. His first loyalty had always been to the Republic and the Jedi—never to Anakin personally. He would even rather champion dead institutions than side with Anakin. When it came down to it, he was just too stubborn to live.

"You are with me, or you are against me," Anakin growled, knowing that Obi-Wan, like Padme, was against him.

"Only a Sith Lord deals in absolutes, Anakin," Obi-Wan stated heavily, igniting his lightsaber. Honestly, he was acting as though the remark itself wasn't absolutist and the whole Jedi philosophy about the Light and Dark Side wasn't all about absolutes. Obi-Wan might have been shackled to the Jedi too long to notice this, but Anakin hadn't been. He was finally free of them, and he only wished that he hadn't waited so long to declare his independence.

Somehow, he knew that this was his last chance to throw down his lightsaber and surrender. In the same way, he recognized that he would never take that route. To surrender would be to admit that he was wrong, and he couldn't do that when Obi-Wan and Padme were the misguided ones. Maybe he could have made things easier for himself if he gave in, but he had never been about picking the path of least resistance. He had never been able to compromise, and he wasn't about to start doing so now just because Obi-Wan was too much of a ferrocrete head to see reason.

Anakin's face contorted as he ignited his own blade and backflipped over to confront Obi-Wan, and the battle began.


	8. Chapter 8

Author's Note: I was bored on a bus trip to the Metropolitan Museum of  
Art, so instead of watching the DVD they chose for us, I wrote this  
chapter. If this chapter is lame, I blame it on Stephanie Meyer  
Syndrome, since the movie they picked was _Twilight_. (Shudders and begs  
to be burned in Mustafar lava instead of being forced to watch  
_Twilight_.)

This chapter is about (roughly because I suck at math) the second half  
of the duel on Mustafar, so once again do not expect much in the way  
of originality or you'll be disappointed.

Review: Review or I will make you watch_ Twilight _for all of eternity  
(or listen to the audio recordings of the book).  
**  
Hatred**

_Hatred: The condition or state of relations in which one person hates  
another; the emotion or feeling of hate; active dislike or  
detestation; enmity, ill-will, or malevolence._

Killing Obi-Wan wasn't easy. Even if Obi-Wan hadn't known every move  
Anakin was going to make before he made it, it would have been a  
challenge, because, even after everything Obi-Wan had done to him, he  
didn't wish to kill the man who had been his best friend.

Sentimentality was crippling him, and part of him knew that. However,  
another part of him also acknowledged that Obi-Wan was just as  
reluctant to strike a fatal blow. Both of them had been presented with  
opportunities to do so, and both had wavered. Apparently, they could  
kick, push, and slash at each other with their lightsabers, but they  
couldn't actually kill one another. They would spend forever here  
lacked in a perilous equilibrium. For all of eternity, they would be  
here on Mustafar, dueling endlessly with each other, since neither of  
them was strong enough to overcome their brotherly instincts.

Already, it felt like they had been fighting for at least an eon.  
During the fray, they had battled through the ore refinery, where  
Anakin had gotten a savage thrill from seeing the payment he had  
collected from the Separatist leaders as recompense for all the wrongs  
they had done him. Then, their battle had shoved them out of the  
refinery when the structure, weakened from the damage it had sustained  
during their fight, crumbled into the raging lava.

Now, they were floating along on debris in a tumultuous river of  
burning lava. The head of the worker droid Anakin was hitching a ride  
on had almost caught up to Obi-Wan's droid platform now.

Deciding that it was time to launch into attack mode again since the  
adrenaline roaring in his veins couldn't wait any longer, Anakin  
lashed out at Obi-Wan with his lightsaber, sneering, "Your combat  
skills have always been weak. You're called the Negotiator because you  
can't fight!"

He hoped this would enrage Obi-Wan. After all, Obi-Wan had been  
regarded as one of the best swordsmen among the Jedi, although, given  
how simple Anakin had found it to slay all the Jedi in the Temple,  
that was a compliment akin to being called the smartest student in a  
remedial class.

Obi-Wan didn't look any angrier, though. If anything, he seemed  
sorrowful and disappointed rather than irate, as he shouted back, "I  
have failed you, Anakin. I was never able to teach you to think."

Thinking, that had always been Obi-Wan's strong suit, Anakin really  
didn't see the benefit he had been to him. Normally Obi-Wan's brand of  
thinking led him to declare that something was impossible right before  
Anakin managed to accomplish that very feat. Of course, maybe if  
Anakin had learned more about politics from Obi-Wan, it might not have  
been such a shock to him when the Jedi betrayed him, though, if he had  
known they were going to stab him in the back, it couldn't have been  
classified as a betrayal anyway. Betrayals only occurred when one  
party was naïve enough to trust another treacherous party. Anakin had  
learned his lesson, though. He wasn't going to trust anyone ever  
again.

"I should have known that the Jedi were plotting to take over." That  
sentence symbolized a broader idea to him. He should have known that  
the Jedi were going to use him up and then push him away. He should  
have known that he was nothing but a means to an end with them. He  
should have seen that he was merely their slave.

"From the Sith!" Obi-Wan cried, looking shocked that Anakin had failed  
to grasp this point. He didn't know that Anakin had already understood  
it, and it didn't mean that much to him any more. As far as Anakin was  
concerned, most of the Jedi had been corrupt and ambitious, and had  
hid these traits under a veneer of false virtue. The Jedi were  
hypocrites, and they acted like it was better to not have any feelings  
at all than to love. They thought that it was better to kill someone  
serenely rather than to do so in anger or hatred. They didn't know the  
first thing about passion or real life. People at least deserved to be  
ruled by someone who understood them—someone who didn't deny their  
emotions—someone like a Sith. "Anakin, Chancellor Palpatine is evil."

"From the Jedi point of view," Anakin retorted, deciding not to  
mention that Palpatine was of little consequence since the next item  
on his to-do list was to dispatch Palpatine. "From my point of view,  
the Jedi are evil!"

The second the words escaped his lips, he cursed himself inwardly. The  
words sounded stupid because they acknowledged that there were other  
valid perspectives other than his own, and that wasn't what he had  
meant to imply. After all, there weren't any valid views but his own.  
Anyone who didn't agree with him wrong, and anyone who was wrong, was  
blocking his path, and, therefore, would have to be killed. There was  
going to be no middle ground in the galaxy once it was under his  
control. Anybody who didn't bow down to him would be destroyed.

The universe had been beating up on him as though he were its own  
personal punching bag ever since he was born, and he was tired of  
being abused. He was mighty. He had the highest midichlorian count any  
being ever possessed. He was the best starfighter pilot in the galaxy.  
He was an audacious, deadly warrior. He was too powerful by far to  
settle for being kicked around forever. After everything he had done,  
he would have respect, and after years of being battered by life, he  
was finally fighting back. He wasn't going to be a passive victim to  
fate any more like the Jedi would have had him be.

Maybe Obi-Wan detected this conviction in his voice or in his aura,  
because an expression of absolute despair that a person might wear at  
the funeral of a best friend flickered over his features for a second.  
Then, the aggrieved look was replaced with a mask of grim resolution.

Anakin had a fraction of a second to register this change before  
Obi-Wan did something completely unexpected: he soared into the air  
and landed on the high bank overlooking the seething lava river.

"It's over, Anakin," he called, as Anakin glared up at him,  
calculating his next step. "I have the high ground. Don't try it!"

The blood in Anakin's veins turned to fire that licked at the corners  
of his brain. Obi-Wan was always underestimating him and telling him  
what he could and couldn't do. He was constantly saying that Anakin  
couldn't do something in the cockpit or with the Force that Anakin  
could do, since Anakin was stronger in the Force and in everything  
else than Obi-Wan. It didn't matter if Obi-Wan had the high ground.  
Anakin was a good enough swordsman that he could level out the playing  
field with his own talent. Obi-Wan would regret challenging him by  
telling him not to try to attack. There was nothing that he couldn't  
do, and Obi-Wan would learn that very quickly.

"You underestimate the power of the Dark Side," he shot back. On the  
last word, he jumped into the air.

He was leaping toward Obi-Wan, his lightsaber poised for action when  
Obi-Wan's lightsaber danced in his direction. Then, time spun out of  
control and skidded into another plane of existence where everything  
was happening too rapidly for Anakin to truly absorb anything. All he  
knew was that he was in mind-numbing, searing agony as Obi-Wan's  
lightsaber sliced through his knees and then flashed upward to chop  
off his remaining hand.

He had been in intense pain before. He had been beaten by Watto. He  
had gotten concussions and broken bones. He had bled from blaster  
wounds. He had been scarred by Ventress. He had lost his arm to  
Dooku's blade. Yet, everything he had ever experienced combined paled  
next to the agony that was ripping through his whole being now as he  
smacked onto the burning black sand at the edge of the lava.

The edge of the lava. That wasn't a good location to be in, since lava  
was hot and would roast him. He didn't need any more pain. In fact,  
that was the last thing in the galaxy that he needed right now. It was  
time to get away from the lava before it inflicted more damage on him.  
Blinded by tears, he scrabbled frantically at the sand with his metal  
arm, feeling like a sailor whose ship had sunk desperately seeking out  
some debris to clutch so that he wouldn't drown.

As his prosthetic hand struggled to find anything solid to cling to,  
he was appalled at the fact that he who had a moment ago been one of  
the most graceful and dangerous warriors in the galaxy now couldn't  
even pull himself away from a pool of lava. This was all Obi-Wan's  
fault. Obi-Wan had humiliated him. Obi-Wan had hurt him. Obi-Wan was  
the reason he was suffering under a pain so overwhelming that he  
wanted to die. Obi-Wan had been cruel enough to chop off Anakin's  
limbs when he knew how much it had pained Anakin to just lose his arm  
to Dooku. Obi-Wan was a monster, and if Anakin survived his injuries  
he would make him pay. Somehow, Anakin would find a way to kill  
Obi-Wan, and he would make Obi-Wan suffer before he killed him. Like  
Dooku, Obi-Wan would die for maiming Ankain, only his death would be  
worse than Dooku's.

"You were the Chosen One." From a kilometer off, he heard Obi-Wan's  
voice, bitter with disappointment, crashing upon his ears. Well, at  
least he could still hear, even if he could barely move. That was  
something. Force, why wasn't Obi-Wan helping him? Anakin didn't need  
another lecture right now. Of course, that was all Obi-Wan was good  
for: lectures. All he could do was scold and never help. He was worse  
than useless—he was a pain. "You were supposed to destroy the Sith,  
not join them. You were to bring balance to the Force, not leave it in  
darkness."

Listening to him, Anakin realized that he had never known true hatred  
before. He thought that he had hated the Tusken Raiders who had  
slaughtered his mother and the Separatist Council, but the loathing he  
felt for them was nothing next to the hatred that he felt for Obi-Wan  
right now. In fact, comparing the hatred he felt now to the  
detestation he had felt previously for anyone was rather like  
comparing his childhood crush on the slave girl Aimee to the blazing  
love he harbored for Padme.

His loathing for Obi-Wan Kenobi was so intense that it even overpowered the physical pain he was in. He hated Obi-Wan for mowing him down like this, and for proving that, contrary to what Anakin Skywalker had always thought, Obi-Wan was really the better and stronger fighter—the more powerful person.

"I hate you," he howled. Even as the words escaped from his lips, he knew they were the last ditch defense of the weak, but he didn't care. He had spoken the truth; he hated Obi-Wan and he always had, although he had never been able to pinpoint the emotion with such accuracy before. Ever since he had met Obi-Wan, Obi-Wan had registered as a blip—a threat—on his radar screen, and that sense of menace had stayed with him over the years, operating on a level so deep he hadn't even be able to detect it fully. Now he saw it plainly for what it was, and he wasn't ashamed of it. After all, it was perfectly natural for brothers to hate each other—brother, hah, Obi-Wan didn't warrant the title of brother anymore--and after what Obi-Wan had done to him, he deserved to be despised.

Perhaps it hadn't been a good idea to shout this, though, because during the course of his scream, he had somehow lost his hold on the sand and was now sliding back toward the lava. Desperately, his hand searched for any purchase, but he found none. His clothes ignited, wrapping him in a fiery cacoon, and he couldn't roll or stomp out the flames. He smelled meat cooking and had the nauseating epiphany that it was his own skin that was roasting. Then, his throat nearly shattered as he screamed as he had never screamed before in his life.

"You were my brother, Anakin! I loved you," Obi-Wan shouted back, but Anakin didn't believe him. If Obi-Wan had ever loved him in the slightest, he would have at least had the mercy to kill Anakin now. Anakin knew he wasn't going to survive his swim in the lava on top of his maiming, so at this point a lightsaber slashing off his head or plunging into his heart would be just about all he wanted. Something like that would be a quick death that would be a painless as anything could be under the circumstances, instead of a slow, agonizing end that was the kind of death Anakin had always feared.

Being his ruthless self, Obi-Wan didn't do the merciful thing and kill him immediately. Instead, he just turned and strode away, Anakin's lightsaber clutched in his hand.

Watching him walk away, Anakin swore to himself that Obi-Wan Kenobi would come to regret the day that he had struck him down like this. When he died, as he sensed that he was going to do soon, he would find a way to become a ghost and haunt Obi-Wan. Then, Obi-Wan could never be able to escape him, and he would have his revenge.

After that, the world around him disappeared into blackness. However, the darkness was welcome, since it was cool, soothing, and accepted him exactly as it was. The pain had stopped as his brain blanked out, and that unfeeling oblivion was the closest he would ever know to peace know. Vader would spend all of eternity in darkness, and he wouldn't care. He wouldn't feel pain, and somehow, he would make Obi-Wan suffer. That was all that mattered now: being free of pain and getting revenge.


	9. Chapter 9

Author's Note: I am finally returning to this fic. Isn't that wonderful? At first, I wasn't planning on writing this chapter and skipping right to the death Star scene, but I decided in the end to include this chapter to explain some of Vader's development and just to add something original to this fic for the first time in a while.

Blame

_Blame: Culpability; fault; responsibility for a wrong_

Vader inhaled and exhaled as he swung his lightsaber around in his practice chamber on the battleship he was currently commanding. The sound of air sucking in and out still sounded unnaturally loud in his ears. Of course it did, though, because there was nothing natural about the benighted suit he was trapped in. Indeed, the black monstrosity was so far removed from anything nature had created that it wasn't even Vader himself that was doing the breathing—it was the suit. The suit was in control. It was regulating everything. It determined exactly how much oxygen flowed through his body at any given time. Without the suit, he wouldn't be alive.

Alive. Anytime he reflected on the fact that he wouldn't be doing anything without the suit, he wondered if alive was really the right word to describe him. Someone who wasn't able to function outside of a massive lifesupport system wasn't exactly alive, but while that lifesystem was able to keep them breathing and moving, they weren't dead either. They were just locked in a peculiar netherworld between the living and the dead. They weren't ghosts, spirits, or any other form of supernatural mopack; they were just shells—shells that would have been better off dead.

Better off dead. The knowledge seared him whenever he was alone in is hyperbolic chamber, which was the only place where he could take off his mask and breathe like the normal young man he should have been. This thought pierced through him because it was the truth. He would have been better off if Obi-Wan had shown a fraction of the mercy that should have been relied on in a supposed best friend and finished him as he lay screaming in that ocean of lava. He would have been better off if Palpatine hadn't used the Force to keep him alive until medical droids could set him up in this prison of a suit.

It would have been better if he had never heard that Padme was dead because of him. It would have been better if he hadn't known that in his fury he had lost control and destroyed the one being he had loved more than anyone else in the galaxy. It would have been better if he hadn't known that he was guilty of killing her and their unborn baby. It would have been better if he didn't have to wonder sometimes if the child she had been carrying was a boy or a girl. It would have been better if he didn't have to picture the life that he could have enjoyed with her if he hadn't let a fire engulf his brain. It would be better if he didn't have to realize that if he had just run away with her as she had pleaded with him to do back on Mustafar, he might have been able to be by her side while she gave birth to his child. Then, they could have raised their child together, and they would have been merry. For once, they could have had the peace they had always dreamed of possessing. For once, there would have been no duty for either of them. For once, there would have just been the freedom to love and be loved that everyone else in the whole cursed galaxy knew except them—

Yet, that couldn't have happened. Of course it couldn't have. That would have been a happily ever after ending, and Anakin Skywalker and Padme Amidala might have been naïve enough to believe in them at one time, but Lord Vader wasn't that dumb. Not only did Vader not believe in happy endings, but he was going to ensure that nobody in the galaxy got one, since nobody deserved to have the love and joy that Anakin and Padme had been denied.

That's why Lord Vader didn't have a problem with slaughtering any of the Jedi that the stormtroopers detected hiding like the craven vermin they were. That's why he didn't have a problem ordering that hundreds of civilians be gunned down, or that whole cities be burned to ashes. If anyone crossed him, they would be annihilated, since he was heartless now because he had nothing in the galaxy that he cared about or was afraid to lose. No enemy was as powerful as one who was completely cold. Vader finally had the serenity Anakin had always envied in Obi-Wan. It had finally come to him when everything that he had ever loved was stolen from him.

At least, Vader liked to tell himself that he had serenity, but he wasn't always so calm when he contemplated that son of an ibbit named Obi-Wan Kenobi. Even from lightyears away in whatever distant star system Obi-Wan was lying low in, Obi-Wan had the power to make Vader's pulse spike.

This whole mess was Obi-Wan's fault. It was Obi-Wan who had severed off his remaining arm and his legs. It was Obi-Wan who hadn't killed him even as he roasted in a pool of lava. It was Obi-Wan who allowed him to live long enough for Palpatine to get to him and arrange for him to be put into this suit. It was Obi-Wan who made it possible for Lord Vader to exist, because he hadn't let Anakin Skywalker die when he should have been killed. Darth Vader knew that, and so, he knew, did Obi-Wan. One day, Vader would have the satisfaction of dispatching Kenobi himself, but until that day, he took pleasure in the thought that he was torturing Kenobi. After all, wherever he was cowering in the shadows now, Obi-Wan would have heard the news about Vader's savagery, and he would have to deal with the scalding truth that not only had he created Vader, he hadn't stopped Vader when he could have. The blood of whoever Vader killed would stain Obi-Wan's hands, and that was a decent enough punishment until Vader could destroy Obi-Wan Kenobi in person.

Until that day, he practiced by destroying any Jedi that the stromtroopers could discover. Of course, killing Jedi wasn't easy, and it had taken time for him to adapt to fighting in his suit. Once he had managed to build a new lightsaber for himself, because Obi-Wan the scumbag stolen his lightsaber, he had to modify his technique.

Anakin Skywalker had strong arms and legs, whereas Vader had metal appendages that weren't as flexible or as quick as they should have been. Anakin Skywalker had been fit and agile, but Vader in the bulky suit that he wore now couldn't move without alerting whole star systems to his presence, and so he had to cut down on the acrobatics and rely on brute strength, instead.

Anakin's Skywalker's élan was gone, replaced by the hybrid aggressive frenzy of Juyo, Ataru, Soresu, and Makashi. Of course, like any good swordsman, he had always employed more than one style, but never to this degree. At this point, he felt like he was devising his own lightsaber form. Maybe he was. After all, no Jedi or Sith had to wear a ventilation grille just to breathe or a whole blasted lifesupport system wherever he went.

Maybe, he admitted to himself as he practiced his lightsaber combat, it was a good thing that the stormtroopers hadn't uncovered Obi-Wan yet. After all, it gave him time to perfect his new variation of Form V. When they met again, Vader would be ready to dismantle Obi-Wan Kenobi.

When he was practicing with his lightsaber like he was now, thoughts of Obi-Wan Kenobi were most likely to intrude on his peace of mind. Perhaps it was because Obi-Wan had been the one to teach him so many of the moves he was revising to fit his needs now. Maybe it was because he had dueled alongside Obi-Wan more times than even the smartest mathematician in the universe could count. Perhaps it was because he had fought in so many practice duels with Obi-Wan before that one on Mustafar that should have killed Anakin Skywalker.

Whatever the reason, it was troublesome, because whenever thoughts of Obi-Wan intruded, Vader could hear Obi-Wan's final shout ringing in his ears since the helmet couldn't block out voices inside his head no matter how much he wished it could sometimes. Whenever he considered Obi-Wan, he always returned to Obi-Wan's response to Vader's cry of hatred: "You were my brother, Anakin. I loved you."

He hated remembering those words. He hated everything that reminded him of Mustafar, of course, but the loathing he felt for those words was exceptionally powerful. He couldn't bear to think that the person who was responsible for making it necessary for him to stomp around in a suit as cumbersome as this one had loved him.

The idea was insane and sounded like it had been invented by someone who had been smoking hookah since birth, but that was what made it so tauntingly credible. Love addled the brains, and, if anyone knew this, it was Vader. Love had made him kill a Temple full of Jedi, younglings included. Love had made him strangle his wife and their unborn baby. Love had made Padme lead Obi-Wan to Anakin. Love had made Obi-Wan fight Anakin, and maybe love had prevented Obi-Wan from slaying Anakin. Love was more deadly and dangerous than hatred, no matter what Palpatine claimed, and it was a fire that burned anyone that it touched. The most heinous crimes weren't committed in the name of hatred but rather in the name of love, and the greatest acts of cruelty were done by those who loved one another, not by those who despised one another.

Love had been the death of Padme and Anakin, and it would be the death of Obi-Wan Kenobi as well. Love was a weakness that Vader did not harbor, because he couldn't afford to and he wouldn't allow himself to. He had finally accepted that the universe was a cold, dark place that was indifferent to his agony, and he had defended himself by making himself as cold and as dark as the universe itself. You couldn't blame him for doing what he had to do to survive in the universe. You could only blame the galaxy for creating him and for making his behavior necessary. Nothing Vader did was immoral; it was amoral.


	10. Chapter 10

Author's Note: Here is the Death Star scene now. This was a difficult piece to write, so I'm sorry if it didn't turn out too well.

**Revenge**

_Revenge: To exact punishment or expiation for a wrong especially in a resentful or vindictive spirit; to take vengeance; to avenge; retaliation for injuries or wrongs; something done in vengeance; the desire to avenge; vindictiveness; an opportunity to retaliate or gain satisfaction._

Vader's veins hummed like his throbbing crimson lightsaber as Kenobi ignited his own weapon. It was so satisfying to leap out in front of his nemesis and see the frail old man's eyes widen. Vader knew that the broken former Jedi before him hadn't been caught completely off-guard, because he had his lightsaber hilt in hand. That didn't matter, though. Vader hadn't been dumb enough to expect to catch Kenobi entirely unawares.

After all, he recognized that the same Force bond that had alerted Vader to Kenobi's unwelcome, prying presence on the Death Star would also betray him by warning Kenobi that Vader was here and looking for him. There was no way that the Force could not have done so, since the bond that had tied them together first as student and teacher and then as best friends was more powerful than either of them had supposed, for it endured long after both of them wanted it to end, and the Force remembered the knot even if they both wished they could forget it.

"I've been waiting for you, Obi-Wan," Vader sneered, even though he knew that his enemy couldn't see his expression through his mask, as Kenobi shuffled forward like the frail remnant of a Jedi that he was. The words were true. He had been waiting for an opportunity to avenge himself on Kenobi ever since the foul man had chopped off his remaining arm and legs and left him to be devoured by the lava on Mustafar.

Now that the moment to punish Kenobi for the crimes he had committed against Anakin Skywalker had arrived and now that he had a chance to prove once and for all that Skywalker was really better than Kenobi, Vader could feel himself quivering with excitement.

Yet, that wouldn't do. While Skywalker's emotions had spun uncontrollably about like helpless, hapless leaves trapped in a hurricane, Vader kept a tight leash on his. Kenobi had to spot this, so that he would know before he died that Vader possessed the serenity that Skywalker had never had and had stupidly envied Kenobi for possessing. "We meet again at last. The circle is now complete."

Eyeing Kenobi appraisingly as the man's lightsaber slid into a classical offensive pose, Vader felt a flare of disappointment. Although Kenobi had appeared weaker than a linka flower, he had hoped that like the shriveled Emperor Palpatine, Kenobi's unthreatening exterior masked a mighty interior. However, Kenobi seemed to really be as weak as he looked. Fierfek. There wouldn't be much satisfaction in cutting down an unworthy opponent who only possessed merely a fraction of the power Kenobi had during his apex in the Clone Wars. That wouldn't do at all.

This was his revenge, and if his revenge was hollow, then so much of his life since Mustafar had been pointless. He had been dreaming of avenging himself on Kenobi ever since he had awoken in this horrid prison of a suit, so if he admitted that his vengeance didn't fill the emptiness inside him, he would be confessing that all the power he had attained since then was meaningless. In effect, he would be confessing that where Anakin Skywalker had once sought power to protect Padme, Vader, who had nobody to love and who was loved by no one, lusted after power because he had nothing else in his life. If he admitted that, he would have to face the chilling liquid nitrogen fact that all the power in the galaxy could never please him, and the insatiable maw of despair inside him would gobble him up after all.

No, he wouldn't space down that dangerous lane. He would not be the sentimental fool again. He would make everyone in the galaxy suffer as Anakin Skywalker had, and he would make the universe as a whole pay for all the anguish it had caused Anakin.

There was meaning in that, and there was meaning in the fact that while once Kenobi had taught Anakin to fight with a lightsaber, now Vader was going to employ those techniques to destroy Kenobi. There was meaning in the fact that whereas Kenobi had once been the better swordsman of the two, now he was the less skilled one. There was meaning in the fact that the student had outstripped the teacher finally. There was meaning in the fact that the apprentice was going to kill the master. There was meaning in the fact that Kenobi's greatest failure was going to be the death of him. There was meaning to the fact that Kenobi had created a monster that he couldn't control that was now going to dismantle him.

"When I left you, I was but the learner; now I am the master," he observed aloud, as these thoughts spiraled inside his skull. There was no denying that he was the superior duelist now, and Kenboi's desperate attempt to surprise him by opening with an offensive stance rather than a typical defensive one was nothing more than an acknowledgment of that.

"Only a master of evil, Darth," Kenobi countered. His accent was as clipped and cultured as Vader remembered, but the tone was different than any he had ever heard before, as impossible as that sounded, since Anakin Skywalker imagined that he had been familiar with every nuance Kenobi's voice could adopt. Yet, Anakin Skywalker had never encountered this tone before. It was simultaneously defeated and resolute. It was laced with unbearable sorrow, but it contained more than a trace of defiance. It was soft and yet it was contemptuous as it turned the Sith honorific that warned others to bow down or be annihilated into a derisive insult.

Hearing the defeat and misery coating Kenobi's tone, Vader smiled savagely under his helmet. He took a perverse delight in knowing that he was responsible for this battered old man's feelings of failure and sorrow. As for the contempt in Kenobi's words, that didn't impact him at all. Once it might have, but now he didn't care what clever comebacks Kenobi devised, because Vader knew that being a master of evil beat being a pathetic relic of a bygone era any day of the year no matter what Kenobi asserted on the contrary. Vader was stronger than Kenobi and that was all that mattered now.

While Vader was sizing Kenobi up, Kenobi had done the same thing. Now, they both stood perfectly still, each waiting for the right moment to strike. Then, probably in another ridiculous attempt to unsettle Vader, Kenobi lunged forward, but his blade was intercepted by Vader's, who noticed that Kenobi's former lightening reflexes had disappeared.

Angry that the Jedi he had respected more than any other had been transformed into a pygmy while he wasn't watching, Vader viciously slashed at Kenobi, infuriated that he had been guilty of fearing someone who was now no more potent than a monster children across the Empire imagined lurked under their sleep couches. His reflexes still almost comically slow compared too how rapid they had once been, Kenobi deflected the blow.

With much less alacrity than he would have displayed in the Clone Wars, Kenobi flowed into a counterattack, which Vader blocked smoothly. In the course of his assault, Kenobi had moved around Vader and was starting toward the hangar bay. The coward thought that he could escape, Vader snorted inwardly. Well, he wouldn't be able to flee. Vader was going to kill him. His life was the cost of humiliating and maiming Anakin Skywalker.

"Your powers are weak, old man," he scoffed, as their lightsabers locked in midair, and he noted with a thrilling pounding of blood in his ears that even Kenobi realized that he was so much weaker than Vader that his only hope to escape this confrontation with his worthless life was to flee.

"You can't win, Darth." Kenobi's eyes sparkled in the crafty, enigmatic manner that they always did when he believed that he knew something that his foe did not and intended to use that knowledge to vanquish the aforementioned enemy. At this sight, fire scorched through Vader's veins. Kenobi had no business pretending he was wiser and more powerful than Vader when it was as plain as a Neimoidian's greed that Vader was the mightier of the two of them. Besides, it was infuriating that Kenobi was always telling him that he wasn't powerful enough to achieve his dreams. Kenobi would see how foolish he had been to underestimate Anakin Skywalker when Vader's lightsaber hacked him to pieces. Vader got whatever he wanted now that he was the second mightiest man in the galaxy after Darth Sidious, and right now he desired nothing more than to be the death of Kenobi, who had wronged him so much in the past. "If you strike me down, I shall become more powerful than you can possibly imagine."

Under his mask, Vader rolled his eyes. Kenobi had always been concerned with metaphorical and metaphysical mopack, but Vader had never been intrigued but that sort of nonsense. He was only concerned with the here and now, and what he could see and touch. Everything else had no significance to him. It was folly to try to intimidate him with threats about an afterlife that Vader no longer believed in and that Kenobi should have stopped believing in if he was half as intelligent as the Holonet had once claimed he was.

He was about to retort, but then his words were swallowed up in a surge of ire when he saw Kenobi perform a pathetic little twirl, as though he were striving to regain the old glory that had been his when he had fought Maul, Ventress, Grievous, and Dooku. It was a dismal attempt that only highlighted how far Kenobi had plummeted since the Clone Wars had ended. More than that, it emphasized how much of a farce the current duel that he was having with Vader was compared to the one they had engaged in on Mustafar and the countless practice fights that they had waged over the years.

It showed how weak they both were because Kenobi had failed and betrayed Anakin Skywalker, and Kenobi had to have failed and betrayed Skywalker. Otherwise, that would have meant that Skywalker was the one to fail and betray Kenobi, and if there were two things that both Vader and Skywalker couldn't stand they were failure and betrayal. Kenobi had to be the failure, not Skywalker; Kenobi had to be the traitor, not Skywalker. For some reason, that meant a lot to Vader despite the fact that Anakin Skywalker was dead, and Vader had done the deed with quite a bit of help from Kenobi, Sidious, and even Padme.

His rage spurring him on, Vader forced Kenobi to retreat towards the docking bay. As their battle brought them to the hallway that fed onto the hangar bay, a squadron of stormtroopers noticed what was transpiring and raced over to provide Vader with reinforcements. Seeing this, Kenobi seemed to recognize at last that his resistance was futile, for he disengaged from the fight, holding his lightsaber harmlessly straight.

This made Vader more wrathful than ever at the fact that not only was Kenobi denying him any possibility of a sweet victory by essentially laying down his weapon at long last since he knew that there was no way that he could emerge the winner from this confrontation, Kenobi also looked at peace. His eyes were closed, and it seemed like nothing could touch him. His face was wrinkled by the pain he had suffered in the past, and now his expression suggested that death was welcome because it meant the termination of his agony. Worst of all, Kenobi looked content with himself, as though he were not tormented by guilt as Vader was, because Anakin Skywalker refused to stay dead even though Vader had murdered him.

No, Vader wouldn't allow him to have such composure when he died, because Anakin Skywalker hadn't been allowed to keep a strand of dignity on Mustafar. Vader would make Kenobi's death a torment. First, he would chop off Kenobi's arms. Then, he would remove Kenobi's legs. Only then, once Kenobi was begging for a mercy killing, would Vader plunge his lightsaber into the feeble old man's heart.

While he screamed in anguish, Kenobi could recall how Anakin had howled when he was burned in a pool of lava and how Kenobi hadn't shown any mercy. He could reflect on how Kenobi had been the one to teach Vader how to be ruthless, and he could die with the searing truth that Vader was more merciful because he would kill a former friend in agony rather than leave them to suffer a slower and even more painful death.

However, Kenobi cheated him of even this, because, as his lightsaber sliced into Kenobi's robes, Kenobi himself disappeared into thin air as though he had been nothing more than an apparition. A second later, his clothing fell to the ground, and his lightsaber smacked on top of them. Stunned, Vader stared at the pile of robes with the lightsaber upon top. Then, snapping at himself to move, he stepped forward and tried to prove to his mind that his eyes were wrong by stomping on the plain mountain of garments. His boots touched nothing but fabric.

At that point, Vader's optical sensors must have malfunctioned, for suddenly everything he saw appeared scarlet. That Kenobi could just disappear like that when Vader's blade pierced into him meant that he had the power to manipulate even death somehow. Sidious had told Anakin Skywalker that he could never learn how to conquer death from a Jedi, but maybe that had been another lie of Sidious'. Perhaps Jedi Masters did know how to destroy death's hold. Yet, if Kenobi had known such a trick, it had been really cruel of him not to share it with his best friend. After all, if he had, perhaps things would have turned out so differently for them all…

That didn't matter, though. Different wasn't necessarily better, and Vader was happy as he was. In fact, he couldn't be happier than he was at the moment. After all, it had always been his greatest dream to destroy Kenobi, hadn't it? And you were supposed to be overcome with joy when you accomplished your biggest dreams.

Yet, Vader didn't feel elated, he felt hollow. Maybe that was because killing Kenobi had only become Vader's greatest ambition once all of Anakin Skywalker's dreams had all failed to come true. Perhaps that was what left the bitter taste of defeat in Vader's mouth when he should have been celebrating his most important victory. Maybe that was why his revenge wasn't nearly as satisfying as he had convinced himself that it would be, and why instead of the overwhelming thrill he had envisioned would conquer him when he killed Kenobi, he only felt relieved that Kenobi was no longer around to outwit him as he had when he had denied Vader his vengeance.


	11. Epilogue

**Redemption**

_Redemption: An act of deliverance or the state of being delivered; rescue; atonement for guilt; salvation. _

As he died and became one with the Force at long last, Anakin Skywalker had no idea what future awaited him in the afterlife, but he thought that he could handle it. He didn't dare to hope that he was bound for a peaceful eternity of bliss. However, he did hope that the first half of his life that he had devoted to saving and helping others combined with his final good deed in which he had only been thinking about saving his son from the Emperor, not about bringing balance to the Force or even ridding the galaxy of an evil Sith Lord, would be enough to save him from the void that the Jedi claimed swallowed up users of the Dark Side when they perished.

For over a decade, he had lived in a void, and he couldn't bear to spend all of eternity trapped in one now that he had finally broken out of the one he had created for himself in life. Anything was better than absolute nothingness and blackness. He could deal with all the agonies rumored to await the wicked in the hundreds of hells described by sentients spanning the galaxy as long as he could feel the pain and know that there was still something in the universe beside himself. Being alone forever in a cold, unfathomably dark infinity was the worst fate he could imagine.

Surely, that dreadful fate didn't await him. His last act had to count for something with the Force. Sidious deserved to be gobbled up by the void, but Anakin didn't. Anakin might have embraced the Dark Side, but it had only been out of desperation, not out of a sadistic desire to inflict suffering on others. Anakin might have become an unfeeling shell, but he had only done such a thing when his heart had been consumed by the loss of everyone he had ever cared about.

As a Jedi, Anakin had committed crimes of appalling brutality, but those had always arisen not from cold calculation but from a loss of control. He had been wrong to slaughter the Tusken Raiders and slay an unarmed Dooku at Sidious' urging, but he hadn't meant to give into his rage and that had to mitigate his heinous actions somewhat. Even when he had been a Sith, he had managed to convince himself that he was doing the right things for the right reasons, and surely the Force would take that into account when it judged him.

If Luke, who had never known Anakin as anything other than a Sith Lord, could find it in his heart to have mercy on him, then certainly the Force would be able to do the same. Certainly, the Force that oversaw everything would pity the little slave boy who had dreamed of being free who had managed through his own folly to enslave himself to a monster a thousand times worse than Watto. Surely, the Force that saw everyone's anguish had to feel some sympathy for the son who had raced across a desert and a galaxy to save his beloved mother only to arrive a moment too late and be compelled to hold her in his arms as she whispered with her last breath how strong and how handsome he was and how proud she was of him.

Since the Force could see into every heart, it had to know how her pride in him had only fed his anger with himself for being just a little too late to save her and had added to the guilt he felt at leaving her on Tatooine. The Force had to understand the terrible fear that had rocked that nineteen-year-old boy who longed to be a man to the core when he thought that the anger and guilt would devour him, and how he had desperately needed to redirect the guilt and the fury on the Tusken Raiders in order to survive.

Surely, the Force which had to understand him better than he could ever comprehend himself would be moved by the nightmares of a young Jedi Knight who had seen too much death when he had visions of his own wife whom he loved more than life itself dying in childbirth. If the Force was truly omniscient, it had to know how it had killed so much of the trust and goodness inside Anakin to think that those closest to him could betray him just as the Republic he had spent so much of his life serving had. If the Force was merciful at all, it had to take some pity on the maimed man who had screamed out in denial when he heard that his own wrath had murdered his wife only to be answered by a mocking, ringing silence that he had thought would fill his ears forever.

His actions were inexcusable, but they weren't incomprehensible, and that had to count for something. He deserved to be punished for his savagery, his fury, his betrayal of those he loved most as well as the best parts of himself, his selfishness, his arrogance, his confusion of possessiveness with love, and his tainting of justice with vengeance. Still, he didn't warrant the void. As long as he wasn't sentenced to spend eternity in a void, he would take his punishment without complaint. In fact, he would be grateful for his punishment, since it would give him a chance at redemption, which was all he was interested in attaining now.

He had just reached this conclusion when the Force stopped dragging him through the universe, and he found himself not in a seething inferno but looking out over a lush meadow filled with budding flowers. It was empty as far as his eyes could see, and the idyllic countryside should have soothed him but it didn't.

Instead, it tormented him, and he started to wonder if the void would have been a better fate, after all. At least in a void he wouldn't be torn asunder by spasms of guilt when the Force transported him back to a meadow on Naboo so much like the one he had frolicked with Padme on when she had been a Senator and he had been her dedicated bodyguard. If he were in the void, he wouldn't be pained by the knowledge that he had once had a life that was filled with the joy of loving and being loved and that his own impulsive actions had brought about the downfall not only of himself but of everyone whom he had loved so much.

"I trust you know where we are." Anakin started at the soft voice of Obi-Wan Kenobi, which he had believed that he would never hear again after he had killed the man on the Death Star.

"My galactic cartography isn't so awful that I don't know that I'm on Naboo," Anakin mumbled, finding that he couldn't even bring himself to meet the eyes of the man he had longed to talk to ever since he had died and that he couldn't find the words to express any of the emotions whirling around inside him like hurricanes. Maybe that was the real tragedy of his relationship with Obi-Wan: no matter how much he wanted to, he could never express how deeply he cared about his best friend. "I just don't know why I am here."

"That's something that you will have to answer for yourself," replied Obi-Wan, and when Anakin found the courage to look at him, he saw that Obi-Wan was smiling slightly. "You chose to come here, not me. I just followed you."

Anakin scowled at the idea that his emotions were still causing him to do things without asking his brain for permission first. Then, he said, thinking aloud as he contemplated why his unconscious would have elected to take him here, "I guess I came here looking for redemption. I suppose I thought that since I had started my journey as a Jedi here and married Padme here I might as well begin to find redemption here."

"Of course, this is all an illusion," he added, shaking his head and trying to wipe the bucolic environment from his mind. "This isn't real. It can't be real."

"It's as real as you or me, Anakin," Obi-Wan answered, and Anakin, glancing down at his ghostlike frame decided that he and Obi-Wan weren't real, either. Of course, he felt like a real person, Obi-Wan talked like a real person, and Naboo looked real, and that was all that truly mattered in the final analysis.

"Naboo is such a beautiful and tranquil world," he murmured. "Even though it was colder and damper than Tatooine, I fell in love with it the moment we landed here to fight the Trade Federation. Over the years, I only came to love it all the more when I spent more time here and became more aware of its culture. Yet, when the Republic became an Empire and the Naboo people bravely resisted Palpatine's iron grip as they had fought the Trade Federation so many years ago, I cruelly squashed their rebellion on Sidious' orders. Of course, Naboo fared better than Alderaan. I blew up Alderaan, Master."

"I know, Anakin. I felt and saw the damage." Obi-Wan's voice was hushed, but that wasn't why Anakin had difficulty hearing him. He had trouble hearing him because he didn't want to hear confirmation of how atrocious it had been to destroy Alderaan.

He didn't want to face the fact that he had sentenced millions of innocent people to death. He didn't want to think that he had demolished a world renowned its culture, its charity missions, its classical architecture, its lovely cities, its pristine natural landscape, and its peaceful political activism.

He didn't want to think about the fact that he had wrecked in a few moments what it had taken centuries of people to build. He didn't want to think about the mountains and rivers exploding. He didn't want to think about the ground caving in on itself. He didn't want to consider the libraries and schools crumbling. He didn't want to picture the government buildings toppling. He didn't want to envision children screaming for their parents before being silenced forever. He didn't want to contemplate parents dying knowing that they couldn't protect their offspring. He didn't want to think about the lovers that had died without kissing each other farewell. Yet, he couldn't remain indifferent to the horrors he, who should have been the Chosen One, had inflicted upon the galaxy anymore, and that was both his salvation and his damnation.

Luckily, Obi-Wan distracted him by pointing out, "You called me Master."

"You deserve that title far more than Palpatine ever did." Anakin shrugged, hoping that ghosts didn't flush because that was what he felt like doing right now. "Besides, you were my Master for years. What else should I call you?"

"You could call me Obi-Wan," Obi-Wan informed him delicately.

"That would be awkward." Anakin shook his head adamantly. "Anyway, that would imply that I was your equal, and I never was, no matter what I used to think. I might have been the most powerful Force user ever, but you were the greatest. I might have been the best starfighter pilot in the galaxy, but I would probably have been shot down if you hadn't been there to defend me. I was a brilliant swordsman, but you were the one who taught me how to fight. You are more powerful than Master Windu ever was. You are wiser than Master Yoda. You are more responsible than Master Qui-Gon. You are stronger and more loyal than me."

"You are exaggerating as usual," Obi-Wan countered dryly.

"And you are modest enough to think that I am," Anakin snorted. Then, looking around him, he asked, "Is this an illusion created in paradise?"

Somehow, he didn't think that this was paradise, because he certainly hadn't earned that, and he didn't think that Obi-Wan would want to see him in paradise even if he was here. After all, if he were Obi-Wan, he wouldn't desire to lay eyes on the Padawan who had failed to absorb his teachings and the best friend who had turned his back on him. Then again, perhaps Obi-Wan had found it in his heart to forgive Anakin already. After all, Obi-Wan was a much better person than he could ever hope to be.

"No, we are spirits looking out on a real Nubian field," Obi-Wan explained. "Our spirits have become one with the Force but have retained their own identity. This is as close to eternal life as anyone can get. As with life itself, whether you make it a paradise or one of the Corellian hells is up to you."

"I'll make it a paradise, then." Anakin gazed out at the gorgeous landscape before announcing awkwardly, "When I died, I wanted more than anything to speak with you again, and it seems like the Force granted my wish. Now that it has, I don't know what to say. All I can say is that I am sorry for everything. I'm sorry that I killed you, I'm sorry that became Darth Vader, I'm sorry that I betrayed you, and I'm sorry that I hurt you."

"You were forgiven long ago, and I am just glad that you asked for forgiveness, because I never thought that you would apologize." Obi-Wan's eyes were haunted, and Anakin pictured the pain that Obi-Wan must have experienced every day since they had parted paths on Mustafar. "I thought that you would hate me forever, and I believed that Anakin Skywalker was dead forever."

"I thought Anakin Skywalker was dead forever, too," Anakin admitted bluntly. "I was wrong, though. Anakin Skywalker never died. He was always alive in Vader no matter how hard Vader tried to crush him, and Vader was always alive in Anakin no matter how much Anakin strove to squash him. Vader was ashamed of Anakin, and Anakin was ashamed of Vader, but they were both the same person. Only the proportions of dark and light changed what name I went by."

"Everyone has darker and lighter elements in them," commented Obi-Wan.

"Not everybody goes on killing sprees or blows up planets." Anakin dismissed this. "There must have been something extra savage about me to allow me to do that."

"You were raised as a slave on a rough world," Obi-Wan defended him. "Your abilities made you grow up too fast, the knowledge that you were the Chosen One burdened you, and you witnessed too many horrors during the Clone Wars."

"That doesn't justify my turning to the Dark Side. Nothing does." Anakin shook his head vehemently.

"You were badly advised. You looked to Palpatine for guidance, and he abused your trust." Obi-Wan tried to comfort him again.

"I still fell into his trap. It was still me who made the mistake of confiding in him instead of you or Padme all because I never had to confess that I had any flaws when I speaking with him, and my ego couldn't bear to admit I had any out loud," answered Anakin, grimacing. "My pride resulted in the deaths of millions of people."

"You might not have turned to Palpatine if I had been a better friend and Master to you," Obi-Wan murmured.

"That's not fair," protested Anakin, his stomach knotting as he realized just how much angst he must have caused Obi-Wan, who must have blamed himself for his pupil's downfall and all the deaths that had resulted from it. "You were a great Master. Of all the Jedi, you were the only one who could control me at all, and I don't think any of the other Jedi would have possessed the patience necessary to deal with me."

"Qui-Gon would have been a better Master for you." As Obi-Wan established as much, Anakin saw the old vulnerability that indicated that Obi-Wan was beating himself up for not saving Qui-Gon from the Sith Lord on Naboo flicker in his eyes.

"That's not true," Anakin insisted, realizing with surprise that this was the truth. "I might have thought that sometimes, but that doesn't make it right. The truth is that I barely knew him and after he died, so it was easy to idealize him and then blame you for not living up to him when I was frustrated."

"If I had done a better job training you, you would not have turned to the Dark Side," Obi-Wan argued.

"I was an adult when I fell to the Dark Side," Anakin reminded him. "I was old enough to make my own choice. I knew right from wrong, and I chose to do wrong. You can't blame yourself for my decisions, Master. Besides, you put everything that you had into training me, and you always used what talents you had to serve others to the best of your ability. When it comes down to it, that's all the Force can expect of anyone, and I can't say that I did that."

Even Obi-Wan didn't know how to respond to that, and so Anakin continued, "I didn't come here to be comforted by you. I came here to tell you that not only am I sorry for what I did to you in the past but also for what I didn't do, and not only for the things I said to you but also for the things I didn't say. I'm sorry that I always turned to you for guidance and comfort and never really returned the favor. I'm sorry that I assumed that your feelings were less complex than my own. I'm sorry I never really paused to consider what you went through and ended up piling more pain on you when I should have made you happier."

Anakin's throat tightened as he reflected on the difficult life Obi-Wan had led that Anakin had never considered before because the other man was far too stoic to complain about the suffering fate chose to heap upon his shoulders. He thought back to the Council meeting when the Council refused to train him and Qui-Gon had stubbornly insisted on taking him as his Padawan. Somehow, in all the years since then, he had never really considered the scene from Obi-Wan's perspective. He had never really contemplated how being shunted aside by one's Master on the verge of Knighthood in favor of a new youngster would hurt like a vibroknife in the chest. Of course, he had never thought about it because Obi-Wan would never have grumbled about it. If he felt jealousy, he would have absorbed it and moved on with dignity. Even though Anakin would have found it terribly cold to be repeatedly thrust in someone's shadow, Obi-Wan had never seemed to mind, because he was willing to let others have all the glory while he was eager to avoid attracting any attention himself, and he was interested only in bearing all the strain.

Oh, and there must have been so much strain. Losing the Master that he had loved like a father was a blow that had continued to pain Obi-Wan throughout his life, Anakin knew. Yet, Obi-Wan had somehow found the strength to work past his own grief and begin training Anakin to fulfill Qui-Gon's last wish. Even though Qui-Gon's death must have ripped Obi-Wan's heart apart, he had never broken down in front of his Padawan. He had wanted to be strong and protect a boy he had been tossed aside for in front of the Council. Although he had more reasons to resent Anakin than the entire Council combined, Obi-Wan had poured everything he had into the difficult task of training an apprentice when he had only just become a Knight himself.

Worse still, Anakin knew he had made the hard job even more impossible. His age and his past presented enough problems as it was, but Anakin had added more complications with his temper, his stubbornness, his defiance, his impetuousness, his arrogance and his insolence. Sometimes he had even tried to make his Master's blood boil on purpose. In spite of all that, Obi-Wan had never given up on him, and they had become the best of friends and brothers until their relationship had burned to ashes on Mustafar.

He was shaken out of such musings when Obi-Wan noted, "You gave me more pleasure than I ever told you, Anakin. Your audacity left me breathless. Your piloting awed me. I wasn't lying on Mustafar when I said that I loved you as only a brother could."

"Then I guess I should finally have the guts to admit that I love you too." As he made this comment, Anakin Skywalker discovered that he was still capable of the rakish smile that he had once been famous for during the Clone Wars when he had believed that he had the power to right all the galaxy's wrongs.

Silence descended between them for a moment, and then Obi-Wan asked gently, "Would you like to attend your own funeral?"

"That sounds weird," observed Anakin, frowning. "Of course, this whole ghost thing is pretty bizarre, too, so I guess I should go because I have a morbid curiosity to see if anyone besides my son will show up."

"Yoda will be there," Obi-Wan told him.

"Yoda is still alive?" Anakin's eyes widened.

"No, he's a spirit like us," Obi-Wan answered.

"That means that I will have to spend all of eternity listening to hints that he always knew I was going to fall to the Dark Side," grimaced Anakin.

"He helped me grab onto your spirit when you died," Obi-Wan educated him mildly.

"I suppose that means that I should refrain from making comments about how he has been around for about a thousand years and yet has never bothered to figure out how to speak Basic correctly," mumbled Anakin.

"That would be considered proper etiquette, yes," Obi-Wan agreed, grinning.

"Where is my funeral being held, anyway?"

"On Endor." Obi-Wan's tone was casual.

"On Endor?" Anakin echoed, gawking at him. "We'll never be able to get there in time."

"We can travel faster even than light. Close your eyes," Obi-Wan instructed, his calm manner implying that he was proposing nothing more radical than eating lunch at a café.

Thinking that this whole scenario was leaping ever further into the abyss of insanity every second, Anakin shut his eyes. For a second nothing happened, and he was about to open them again when he felt something tugging on him like a magnet would upon a flimsi clip. Then, he was being pulled through the obsidian blackdrop with the bright pinpricks again for a dizzying few moments. Once the sensation of motion left him, he opened his eyes and was astonished to find himself on the forest moon of Endor hovering not far from a blazing funeral pyre.

"Are you all right?" Obi-Wan wanted to know, as Anakin stared about him, dazed. "The sensation takes some getting used to."

"I'll say," grunted Anakin. "I think I left half my ghostliness was left behind on Naboo."

"Now you know how I felt riding next to you in a cockpit all those years," Obi-Wan declared wryly.

"Master, my maneuvers saved us from many tight spots." Before Obi-Wan could question how many of those situations Anakin's piloting had brought them into, Anakin returned to the initial topic. "Anyway, this new method of traveling will take me some time to adapt to, but once I get accustomed to it, I should be fine. It's like how people felt when they first discovered that they could move at the speed of light. They were shocked that something they had always thought was impossible could be done, and they were amazed that they could travel to other words that quickly. Then, once the wars over hyperspace lanes and between different planets had mostly subsided, everyone's lives basically returned to normal, and the galaxy that had seemed so odd to them turned out not to be as weird as they thought. I just have to get used to the idea that light speed isn't the limit with a spirit."

"Only a pilot would employ such a comparison." Obi-Wan shook his head in despair, but he was smiling.

"Now I really will be able to visit every single planet." Unfazed, Anakin shrugged, and then shot his friend a winning look. "The offer to join me still stands."

"I see you are still harboring under the delusion that this is a very generous proposal to make to someone who hates flying."

"I see you still have your sarcasm bone intact. What a relief, Master," Anakin snorted.

Before either of them could say anything else, however, Yoda materialized beside them. Gasping, Anakin leapt back a step. Then, when he recovered himself, he stiffened, preparing himself for some verbal barb. Instead of receiving one, all he got was a dignified nod of acknowledgment. More than a little wrong-footed by Yoda's lack of open antagonism, Anakin nodded back. Hoping to conceal some of his alarm at being forgiven so easily, he gazed out at the funeral and asked, "As spirits, can we interact with the living?"

"Yes, but only if they want to talk to us," answered Obi-Wan.

"Good." Anakin felt some of the tension flow out of him. "There are many things I would like to tell my son."

When he was dying, he had not possessed the oxygen necessary to impart all of the lessons that he wanted to on his son, but there were so many of them that he would give to Luke if he ever had the opportunity. He wanted to tell his son to look at how his father had squandered half of his existence and wrecked havoc on a galaxy. He wanted to tell his son to learn from his mistakes, to do things differently, and to never choose the Dark Side.

He wanted to tell his son to trust in the Force and in those he loved, because doubt was the path to loneliness and betrayal. He wanted to tell his son to serve others, but to also remember to have fun by taking up Podracing or something. He wanted to tell his son not to concern himself with the trivialities of life and to not look for the answers to everything, because some things were meant to be incomprehensible. He wanted to tell his son never to lose his lightsaber, since it really was his life. He wanted to tell his son to train the next generation of impudent Jedi and teach them that, too. He wanted to tell his son that when in doubt, he should know that Artoo could probably fix the problem. He wanted to tell his son to take care of Threepio no matter how vexing the protocol droid's pompous prattle got. He wanted to tell his son that he would always be with him and so would the Force.

Staring out at his son, Anakin thought that he finally understand the overpowering, noble impulse to raise a man who was better than yourself, and he comprehended completely why Obi-Wan had been so stern with him sometimes.

Anger, revenge, deception, cruelty, and hatred: those were all the foul ways of the Dark Side. Foolishly, Anakin had allowed them to dominate his life and devour him until he was little more than a shell. Yet, even while the Dark Side consumed him, he hadn't noticed the true price of it until now. Now he saw that the price of the Dark Side was destruction. It was the Dark Side that had destroyed the Jedi Temple, the Republic, Padme, and the lives of billions under Sidious' tyrannical rule. Now he knew that all the promises that the Dark Side used to lure in its unsuspecting prey were mirages, for the Dark Side couldn't bring peace or closure. All it could bring was misery and death.

However, maybe what's lost could be regained. Maybe Luke could rebuild the Jedi, and maybe that woman who looked so much like Padme could forge a new Republic. Perhaps the galaxy needed nothing more than a fresh start right now.

If that was the case, Anakin couldn't wait to see the future unfold, because he had faith in it. More importantly, he knew what faith was now. It was a memory of a time when all was perfect in the galaxy. It was a promise that we will remember what we have learned in the past so that we can become older, wiser, and more filled with compassion both for ourselves and others. At its core, faith was really nothing more than the memory of love and the belief that love was everlasting.

Though he knew and grieved that there would be some who became misguided and ended up using their gifts for ill as he had himself, he had faith in the future of the galaxy. He also knew that he could not hold himself above beings that did such things, since he had been guilty of such crimes himself. He could only hope that those who fell victim to the darkness inside them would be guided back to the light as he had, so that they could recognize their errors and repent for them.

Indeed, it was the thought of redemption that gave him faith in the future, because he knew that the Force was merciful and accepted the sincere repentance of its servants, and, therefore, no matter how far beings like himself fell, the Force was always prepared to send someone like Luke out to return them to the light. As such, Anakin knew that no matter how many Sith Lords arose to spread death and corruption in the name of the Force, the message of unity, love, and peace that the Force was really trying to impart on sentients would live on and one day triumph.


End file.
